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J^ionee'i to iSoutne^n Utah 


Published in 1942 




WHEN MY grandfather died on October 15, 1908, 
my father had me write a brief sketch of his 
life in our family record book. Although I was 
only in the fifth grade at the time, I wrote what he and 
grandmother and the others told me. 

"Some day I want you to really write father's life," 
my own father said. "When you get older you can write 

Ever since that time I have had it in my heart to do 
this. For the last three years of his life, grandfather lived 
with my grandmother about a half block from our home. 
Every morning and evening I stopped in to leave them 
fresh milk, and I always carried them a pat of butter from 
every churning. I loved to linger and listen to grand- 
father's Indian stories and to hear his songs. Somehow 
tne hymns have never carried as much feeling since, and 
the western ballads have never sounded so rollicking, es- 
pecially, "On the Road of California", The Indian songs 
seemed to have passed with him. 

In 1933 I began collecting the diaries and journals of 
the pioneers of the southwest. In many of them I found 
references to Dudley Leavitt. These, with the material 
from the family records, have formed the basis of this 
work. There is much that could be included, much that 
should be, no doubt, but I have done the best I could in 
the space allotted. 

I am especially indebted to the diaries of Orson W. 
Huntsman, John Pulsipher, Myron Abbott, and Joseph I. 
Earl for references; for the early life I have drawn from 
the journal of his mother, Sarah Sturdevant Leavitt. I 
have also gleaned material from the Journal History of 
the Church, from their volumes of letters, from the records 



of Washington County, and from the Temple records. 

All the family have been helpful and interested, a fact 
which I appreciate very much. Aunt Theresa Huntsman 
and Aunt Selena H. Leavitt both read the manuscript and 
gave me suggestions. Most of the living children talked 
freely of their father, giving me many incidents. Uncle 
Jeremy wrote some experiences which I have been glad 
to include. 

More than anyone else, I am indebted to my husband, 
William Brooks, for his constant encouragement and for 
his patience with the home work, which I have had to 
neglect in order to do this. Without his support I should 
never have finished it. 

I hope that the various members of the family will 
find in this book reliable information and an added respect 
for this remarkable character, Dudley Leavitt. 

There has been some question as to the spelling of 
two of the names. Dudley's fourth wife, Grandma Janet, 
is variously spelled: Jeannette, Jennette, Jenette, and Janet. 
In copying from the work of Aunt Hannah Terry, she 
spelled it Janet. I adopted that spelling in quoting from 
her, and then kept it throughout the book for the sake 
of clearness. 

The same thing is true of the spelling of Weir. The 
older records have it Weare, but the family now spell it 
Weir, hence my use of it. 


Chapter Page 


















THE ARRIVAL of a new baby at the Jeremiah 
Leavitt home was nothing to be surprised at, for 
every two years or less a new one was added to 
the little flock, until they were accepted as part of the 
natural scheme of things. This boy, bom August 31, 1830, 
was the fourth son and the eighth child. His mother, then 
thirty- two years of age, was to have four others. At this 
time the family consisted of Louisa, 10; Jeremiah, 8; Lydia, 
7; Weir, 5; and Lemuel, 3. Two of the children had died. 

They called the new baby Dudley, a family name which 
could be traced back to Dorothy Dudley, a grandmother 
several times removed. Though the family lived in a humble 
home, they were proud of their lineage. Both the father 
and the mother could trace their names back to the early 
Puritan stock, some of the ancestors of both having come 
over on the Mayflower. 

The Leavitt family came from a line of note in England, 
their family coat of arms representing a ramping lion and 
the motto meaning, "The Quick" or "The Active", denoting 
that they were physically superior. The Dorothy Dudley 
from whom this boy derived his name was a daughter of 
Samuel Dudley of the Massachusetts Bay colony. Her 
father could boast that four of his family had been gov- 
ernors there: His father, Thomas Dudley; his father-in-law, 
John Winthrop; his brother, Joseph Dudley; and his 
brother-in-law, Simon Bradstreet. Thomas Dudley came to 
America in 1630 in the Mayflower, along with Mr. John 
Winthrop and others. 



Through the Dudley line it is possible to trace from 
Thomas through the Purefoys, back through the mazes of 
English royalty and near-royalty to Alfred the Great of 
England, who ruled from 871 to 901. The mother also 
boasted a good family tree. She was Sarah Sturdevant, and 
her family can be traced back through John Thompson to 
William Brewster, also of the Mayflower. 

At the time of Dudley's birth, the family were living 
in Hatley, Canada, just fifteen miles from the Vermont line, 
Jeremiah had brought his young bride here immediately 
after their marriage, for the soil was deep and rich and 
the timber plentiful. They would establish their home and 
rear their family here. 

The change was a sore test for the eighteen-year-old 
wife. She had been brought up in a strict Puritan home, a 
home where Bible reading and family prayers were estab- 
lished daily institutions, and where the Sabbath was ob- 
served to the letter. Hatley was still little more than a 
boisterous camp, and the swearing, the drinking, and the 
general disregard for things religious and for all the customs 
she had considered essential to civilized life, tried her bit- 
terly. She had adjusted and developed until she was now 
well matured, resourceful, and still devoutly religious. Al- 
ways of a serious nature, she read the Scriptures, meditated 
much, and prayed often, for the conditions she saw around 
troubled her. 

Several years passed. Two other children, Mary Amelia 
and Thomas Rowell, were added to the family. In the 
meantime, Sarah, the mother, had joined the Baptist church 
because she believed in baptism by immersion. 

Through the paper which was published by her church, 
she read of a strange new sect which claimed that their 
prophet received revelations direct from God. The stories 
were much distorted and so fantastic that they were comi- 
cal. Yet she was strangely interested in the idea of new 
revelation. In her prayers and meditations, she had been 
impressed that she was to receive new light from some 

One afternoon one of her husband's sisters called upon 
her and asked her to go for a walk. When they were out 
in the fields where they would not be overheard, she told 
Sarah that she had been to listen to some Mormon Elders 


preach. She found Sarah a sympathetic listener, so she 
went on to say how she believed that this was really the 
true church of Christ restored again; finally she admitted 
that she had been baptized. Suddenly it flashed on Sarah's 
mind that this was the new light that she herself had been 
looking for. 

Returning home, she told her husband of the incident, 
and together they went to a Mormon meeting. They accepted 
all the literature they could get, and spent long evenings 
reading aloud from it, comparing it with the Scriptures, and 
discussing it. Sarah's real conversion came when she read 
from the Doctrine and Covenants. In her journal, written 
after she had grown old, she said: "I knew that no man, 
nor set of men, that could make such a book or would dare 
try from any wisdom that man possessed. I knew that it 
was the word of God and a revelation from Heaven and 
received it as such. I sought with my whole heart a knowl- 
edge of the truth and obtained a knowledge that never 
has nor never will leave me." 

Dudley was too young to know what it was all about, 
though he listened with round eyes to much of the talk. 
The older children all joined in as they could, reflecting in 
some measure the fervor of their parents. The popularity 
of the new sect had grown, most of Jeremiah's family hav- 
ing joined. The next thing was to gather with the body of 
the church at Kirtland. 

This was a stupendous undertaking for Jeremiah and 
Sarah, for it meant taking their large family and moving 
to a new place. But they were determined to go with the 
rest of the company. 

They left Hatley on July 20, 1835, a company of twenty- 
three souls, Jeremiah's mother, Sarah Shannon Leavitt and 
her children and grandchildren. Her oldest son-in-law, 
Frank Chamberlain, was in charge of the group. In Jere- 
miah's wagon, besides the parents, were eight children: 
Louisa, Jeremiah, Lydia, Weir, Lemuel, Dudley, Mary and 

The company traveled in order, resting on the Sabbath 
and whenever it was necessary to wash clothes, repair 
wagons, or get supplies. It was a new experience for the 
five-year-old Dudley, this camping out, cooking over the 
campfire and sleeping under the stars. Thus his life as a 


frontiersman began early, and many of his accomplishments 
in reading the signs of nature, his skill in tracking, and his 
keen observation, might be traced to these early years. 
Here he learned, also, resourcefulness and the ability to 
meet emergencies. 

They arrived in Kirtland early in September, and to 
his dying day, Dudley remembered his first impression of 
Joseph Smith. To his childish mind, here was a Prophet 
who talked with God and angels, so he seemed a little more 
than human. Later in his life, Dudley was to have closer 
association with Joseph Smith, an association which seemed 
only to strengthen his first impression. 

Since the family money was gone, they could go no 
further. The rest of the company went on to Twelve Mile 
Grove in Illinois, but they must find work near Kirtland. 
They went ten miles to the village of Mayfield where there 
was a mill and some chair factories. Here Jeremiah and 
his older sons got work. 

Since most of the people of the town were bitter against 
the Mormons, life was difficult here. Often Dudley came 
home from school with a bloody nose from defending a re- 
ligion of which he could then have knovvn but little, but to 
which he was to devote his life. His parents attended strictly 
to their own business and were so honest and trustworthy, 
that in spite of the hatred toward Mormons in general, 
they left town with the good feelings of the people. On the 
day they left, the merchant of the town canceled a part 
of their store bill, and gave them a few luxuries such as a 
card of buttons to put on the baby's coat, and a paper of 
tea. Through their influence, a number of people of the 
town later joined the Mormon church. 

This second journey was to take them another five 
hundred miles west to Twelve Mile Grove, near Nauvoo, 
Illinois. It was a long and tiresome trip. Near Lake Michi- 
gan they were forced to stop again while the father earned 
enough to go on. Here they found three orphan children 
of Jeremiah's brother, Nathaniel. Their mother had died 
some years before, and when the father died, his second 
wife went back to Canada, leaving the children with people 
there. The oldest boy was about twelve years old. Jeremiah 
and Sarah took them all along, increasing their group to 


eleven children. The orphans' names were Nathaniel, Fla- 
villa and John. 

The roads were bad all the way. In one place there 
was a five-mile bridge over a swamp, made with poles and 
without a covering of dirt, so that it nearly jolted them 
to pieces. 

They arrived to find their friends sick and discouraged. 
Mother Sarah Shannon Leavitt had died of exposure and 
hardship. Many of the company were ill; all were in low 
spirits. They had bought good farms, but there was so 
much malaria that those that did not actually have the 
chills and fever were moving about half sick. Some of them 
had begun to doubt the truth of this church which had 
cost them so much. Jeremiah and his wife brought new 
zeal and new hope to the group. 

Dudley's parents must find work to support their many 
children. They learned that there was a great canal being 
built at Juliette, fourteen miles away. Here Jeremiah could 
work with his team for three dollars a day. Sarah took in 
washings for the workmen. The girls helped her, and the 
boys, Jeremiah, Weir, Lemuel and Dudley worked at odd 
jobs. Altogether, the family did well. They stayed there 
from November until spring and then went back to join 
their relatives at Twelve Mile Grove and took a farm on 
shares. They had five good cows, so they could have butter 
and cheese, and they raised a good crop. 

Jeremiah, seeing at what an advantage he could use 
the labor of his family on a farm, decided to take up a piece 
of virgin land for himself. He moved out onto the prairie, 
put up a house, and moved the family out. There was every 
indication that they would soon become well-to-do. 

Then misfortunes came, not singly, but in battalions. 
First, the mother was taken ill with chills and fever. For 
more than a month she was down, seriously, dangerously 
ill, alternately shaking with chills and burning with fever. 
To add to their troubles, their only cow died. Jeremiah 
made rails enough to buy another cow, and as soon as his 
wife was better, they decided to move to Nauvoo. Most of 
their friends were going and they wanted to be with the 
body of the saints. 

They started in November, and on arriving, bought a 
house three miles from the city. They plowed and sowed 


the land to wheat. Before it was ready to harvest, they 
found that there had been some irregularities in the survey 
and the land belonged to another man. So they swapped 
again and got a farm by the Big Mound, seven miles from 
the city. 

This was in 1841. For six years the family had been 
on the move, living a few months or a year at a place as 
they could get work. Now, at last, they were established 
where they felt that they would be permanent. They were 
seven miles from Nauvoo, but they could go in to town for 
conferences and special meetings, and could keep in touch 
with their people. The farm was in a fine location with the 
site for the new home they planned to build on top of the 
mound. There was every promise that they would soon 
be prosperous. Dudley was then eleven years old, Lemuel 
fourteen, Weir seventeen and Jeremiah twenty. With such a 
group of strappling young fellows to help him, the father 
could soon get a fine farm all in shape. 

They did well, too, in spite of some reverses. One 
season the boys all came down with the black canker. Each 
had his turn. For a time it seemed that death hovered over 
the household, but by careful nursing and great faith the 
parents were finally able to save them all. At another time, 
Mary, then nine years old, had a felon on her finger which 
caused her great suffering. 

With the coming of cold weather the sickness abated. 
For three years they lived on this place, increasing their 
acreage, stocking the farm with cattle, preparing to build 
a fine house. They had the rock and gravel hauled for the 
foundation. Everything seemed to be working for their 
benefit until the year 1844, when their troubles began again. 

Dudley, now in his teens, could do the work of a man. 
He had received little formal education because the family 
had moved so much. But he could read, and did read. His 
texts were chiefly the Bible, the Book of Mormon, and the 
Doctrine and Covenants. In the family circle they often 
read aloud in the evening. The children committed passages 
to memory. Dudley's education was practical. He learned 
how to farm, how to care for animals, how to mend tools. 
The plant and animal life around him were an open book, 
always interesting, from which he read fluently. 


Then the mobbings began. Before this time, the Leavitt 
family had lived often among people who were not in sym- 
pathy with their beliefs. Sometimes the children had diffi- 
culties because they were Mormons. But never before had 
they known such depredations as they were now to witness. 
From their mound they could see, night after night, the 
distant fires of homes burning; they could hear the sound 
of horses' hoofs on the road. 

Only once did the mob threaten them. A group rode 
up to the fence with a clatter, dismounted, and started to- 
ward the gate. Weir, a young giant of twenty-two, walked 
calmly out of the house to meet them. 

"Come on in, fellows," he said easily. "Come on in 
and have a drink," 

Taken by surprise at such a reception, the crowd fol- 
lowed him around to the cellar, where he poured a pitcher 
of wine and passed it to them. Then picking up the barrel, 
he drank out of the bunghole. They watched with amaze- 
ment. They noticed how his muscles bulged under his shirt; 
they saw the cool fearlessness of his eyes. Perhaps they 
noticed too the tense, watchful attitude of the younger 
brothers, Lemuel, Dudley and Thomas. They were only 
boys, but boys with fight in them. The mobbers got on 
their horses and rode away. The family were not molested 

This was not much comfort when they could see the 
things that were going on around them and hear the stories 
of the whippings and the tarring and feathering that 
went on. 

They worked on their farm all the spring of 1844, 
conscious only of the troubles when they went into town 
on Sunday. They knew that the Prophet was taken pris- 
oner, but he had been taken before, and God had always 
protected him and helped him to escape. When the word 
came that he had been killed, they were all thunderstruck. 
They felt that they must do something; they must go some- 
where and find out about it. They hurried to the city to 
see crowds of grief-stricken people passing on the street 
or gathered in groups. Gloom sat on every face, and hope- 
lessness. With their Prophet and leader gone, what could 
they do? 


The next day the bodies of Joseph and Hyrum lay in 
state at the mansion house. The people thronged there for 
one last look upon the man whom they almost worshipped. 
Not one but would gladly have given his life to save the 
Prophet. Dudley stood in the line that passed single file 
before the bodies. Something in the calm majesty of the 
dead faces strengthened his testimony of the work which 
this man had established; something of the sublime seemed 
to reinforce his assurance that here was a man who was 
called of God. Whatever it was, the experience was so in- 
delibly stamped on his mind that he never forgot it, and 
regardless of what hardships he must endure for his faith in 
this man, he never wavered in his belief. 

As the family started home, downcast and troubled, 
word came that the mob were again scouring the country- 
side with the threat that they would drive out every Mor- 
mon. The great drum, the signal of alarm to the saints, 
beat out its warning. They all gathered at the home of 
William Snow, where they found several families already 
met. William Snow had married Dudley's sister, Lydia, so 
there was a feeling of kinship in being at his home. 

The women and children sat in the dark room, while 
the men and boys stood guard. 

"Arm and be ready," a rider called to them. "The mob 
is out to destroy every Mormon." 

One of the women began to cry, begging her husband 
not to go. 

"If I had forty husbands and as many sons, I would 
urge them all to go," Sarah told her. "If I could, I would 
go myself." 

With Joseph Smith and his brother killed, the mob 
quieted down. For several months the people lived at peace, 
working their farms and tending their businesses. But they 
were like sheep without a shepherd. They lacked direction. 
Though they met together often, they lacked the spirit 
they had before. Their most important question was, 
"What can we do now?" 

In the meantime, the members of the Council of Twelve 
Apostles began to gather in to Nauvoo. Most of them had 
been absent at the time of the martydom of the Prophet, 
and had hurried home as soon as the word reached 
them. Sidney Rigdon was one of those who felt that he 


should be the next president of the church, since he had 
been a counsellor to the Prophet. Joseph's wife, Emma, 
felt that the leadership should remain in the family. It 
was not until Brigham Young and a number of the Twelve 
had returned that a public meeting was held to determine 
the successor to Joseph Smith. 

All the Leavitt family were present on that occasion, 
August 8, 1844, for, to them, this was a matter of great 
importance. Fourteen-year-old Dudley was with his friends 
near the back of the large audience which had gathered to 
hear the talks of the authorities. On the stand the men 
were arranged according to their rank in the priesthood, 
the different quorums grouped together. After the prelim- 
inary opening exercises, Brigham Young arose to speak. 
Sidney Rigdon had already pressed his claims at a meeting 
the day before, but no vote had been called. 

On the edge of the crowd, Dudley whispered to some 
of his companions. Suddenly they all stopped and listened. 
It was their Prophet Joseph speaking! How well they knew 
his accents. They raised up and looked toward the stand. 
For a second, they thought it was the Prophet who stood 
there. But they knew it was not, and soon the vision passed. 
It was so real to Dudley that it made a lasting impression. 
For him, the mantle of Joseph had in reality fallen upon 
Brigham. As long as he lived he loved to re-tell the incident. 

The whole audience seemed to have had the same ex- 
perience, for when a vote was called, they were almost 
unanimous in saying that they would be led and directed 
by the Twelve Apostles, with Brigham Young at the head. 

United again under a competent leader, the people went 
on with their work, finishing the temple, and carrying 
on their church duties. The persecutions, temporarily 
stopped, now began again. Again marauding bands scoured 
the country-side at night; again burnings and mobbings 
became common. At the Mound, the Leavitt family kept 
a constant watch, for two roads went directly past their 
home, one from Warsaw and one from Carthage, and they 
must be alert for enemies from either. Dudley took his 
turn at standing guard with the older boys. 

It soon became evident that they must either leave 
the state or renounce their religion. This last they would 
not do. The body of the church had promised to leave, and 


asked only time to gather their crops and make prepar- 
ations. The Leavitt family could stay on their prosperous 
farm and finish their new home, or they could go with 
their friends. Dudley's mother, writing in her journal, said: 

"We soon found that we had to leave the place if we 
meant to save our lives, and we with the rest of the brethren 
got what little we could from our beautiful farm. We had 
forty thousand bricks that my husband and sons had made 
for to build a house, and part of the rock to lay the founda- 
tion. For this we got an old bed quilt and for the farm a 
yoke of wild steers, and for two high post bed-steads we 
got some weaving done. Our nice cherry light stand we 
left for the mob, with every other thing we could not take 
along with us." 

The family was again on the road in search of a new 
home where they could live their religion in peace. By 
this time two other members had been added, Betsy and 



IT WAS A year and a half after the martyrdom of 
Joseph Smith before the Mormons left Nauvoo. Early 
in 1846 they had their orders to leave the state. 
Brigham Young tried to get permission to stay until spring, 
and until they could get their outfits ready, but the mob 
was determined that they should go at once. 

Sometime in February the Leavitt family left their 
farm and gathered with neighbors and friends at an old 
school house. The first night out the mother, Sarah, had 
a premonition that if they did not get out of there, they 
would all be killed. They did not have the cover on their 
wagon or their things packed, but her husband listened to 
her. It was the first time in all their troubles that she 
had shown any fear. During the difficulties in Nauvoo, 
she had been cheerful, confident that God would take care 
of them. Now, when she suddenly became so afraid, her 
family listened to her. Hurriedly piling things into the 
wagon, they set out for the Mississippi river, eight miles 

They arrived on the bank to find a crowd collected 
and getting across as fast as they could. Not until Sarah 
reached the opposite bank did she feel safe. The group 
arranged their wagons in a circle as close together as they 
could crowd them, with the fire in the center. The first 
night there was a snow storm and a strong wind which 
made it almost impossible to keep covers on the wagons 
or on the beds. The thawing weather which followed after 
was nearly as disagreeable as the cold. They stayed there 
about two weeks, until they could get the rest of their 
cattle across the river and prepare to move on. 



They had a trying time because they were not fitted 
for a long journey, either from the standpoint of supplies 
or outfit. They had let the church use one of their teams 
to haul out the church property. This meant that they 
had only one wagon left and one team of oxen to pull it. 
Loaded as it was with household goods, the wagon could 
not carry the family too, nor could the oxen pull them. 
That meant that the mother and children must walk, wad- 
ing the sloughs and climbing the hills. It was April in 1846 
before they reached Mt. Pisgah, one hundred and fifty 
miles west of Nauvoo. 

This was to be one of the camps of the saints, so the 
father and boys set about to build a shelter and plant crops. 
Since they did not have provisions to last until harvest, the 
father went back to Bonaparte to secure some. Their son, 
Jeremiah, was married and living at that place, so the 
father would live with him while he earned flour, and when 
they came back to Mt. Pisgah, they would bring Jeremiah 
with them. Weir and Lemuel had gone on with another 
group to Council Bluffs; they were strapping young fellows 
and well able to make their way. The father decided to 
take the sixteen-year-old Dudley with him back to Bona- 
parte to help work for provisions, leaving the mother with 
only Thomas and the three girls during the summer. 

Soon after her husband left, Sarah came down with 
the chills and fever. Then the children all got it, until there 
was not one to wait upon the others. Though they were 
strangers, they were among their own people, and their 
neighbors were very kind, coming in to prepare meals, and 
do the washings. 'T was the first one to take sick there 
and three hundred took sick and died after I was, and I 
v/as spared alive," she wrote in her journal. 

In the meantime, the husband was also sick back at 
his son's home in Bonaparte. Although they nursed him 
the best they could, it soon became evident that he could 
not get well. He, too, knew that he would go, a premoni- 
tion that he had before he left his wife, and that she had 
felt also. 

In his last hours as Dudley sat beside him holding his 
hand, he began to sing the hymn, "Come, Let Us Anew!" 
On the last verse, "Oh, that each in the day of His coming 
may say, 'I have fought my way through; I have finished 


the work Thou didst give me to do' ", his voice faltered. 
He asked Dudley to go on with the song, but the boy's 
heart was too full. He could not. Jeremiah's wife bravely 
took up the strain, "And that each from his Lord shall 
receive the glad word 'Well and faithfully done. Enter into 
my joy and sit down on my throne' ". Without a struggle 
or groan, he passed quietly away. That song has ever 
after been a family favorite. 

The mother, who had patiently waited her husband's 
return, was almost prostrate at word of his death. Her 
children rallied around her, Jeremiah coming with Dudley 
to bring the outfit and load of provisions, and Weir and 
Lemuel coming back from Council Bluffs with medicine 
and food. Now for a short time she had all her sons to- 
gether, five of them. It was the last time they were ever 
together, for Weir died the next summer. The father had 
passed away August 20, 1846, and Weir, the strongest of the 
group in August, 1847. The daughter, Lydia, who had been 
married to William Snow, died in November of 1846, making 
three out of the family to succumb to the life of exposure 
and hardship. 

As soon as the boys had all gathered, they decided to 
move on to Council Bluffs, where Weir and Lemuel had 
some crops planted. They arrived in November, and since 
they had no house in which to live and had to camp out, 
the mother took chills and fever again. The boys fixed 
her a shelter of hay in which she lived until they built a 
house at Trade Point on the Missouri River, This was 
the place where the steamboats landed. 

As soon as she was able to work, she took in washings, 
she did fine sewing, she baked bread and pies to sell to 
the emigrants to California. She took in boarders. The 
boys found work, too, and all bent all their energies toward 
getting an outfit to cross the plains to Utah. Weir had 
died, Jeremiah was married and had brought his family 
to Utah, and Lemuel came ahead with an earlier company. 
This left Dudley the oldest boy at home, with his three 
sisters and his younger brother, Thomas. 

During the two years they lived at this place, Dudley 
worked for a man named Peter Maun. Peter liked Dudley 
and took great pride in his strength, for at this time the 
boy was broad and strong almost beyond belief. At one 


time Peter Maun began bragging about him to a group of 
soldiers who were wrestling among themselves. 

"I've got a hired man that can throw any of you," he 
said. "Or he can throw all of you, one at a time." 

The soldiers took the challenge, and Dudley was called. 
He stood in the center and met them one by one. The 
game was wrestling, side holds, and the first to trip or 
throw his opponent off his feet was the winner. With his 
employer to encourage him and prod him on, Dudley took 
one after another until he had thrown sixteen, and no 
more came forward. So elated was Peter Maun that he 
put his hand to his mouth and gave a whoop that raised 
the echoes. 

It was really through this man that the Leavitt family 
got to the valley as soon as they did. With all their work, 
it was hard to get ahead; the process of saving was slow. 
One day Dudley found a purse with one hundred and fifty 
dollars in it. He showed it to Peter Maun. 

"What are you going to do with it?" his employer asked. 

"Try to find the owner," Dudley told him. 

"You are crazy," Maun said. "With all the hundreds 
of people who are passing here every day, how can you 
find the owner? Some one will be sure to claim it that 
doesn't have as much right to it as you do. The real owner 
has probably gone ahead. You keep the purse a few days 
and wait to see if anyone inquires for lost money before 
you say anything about it." 

Dudley did as he suggested, arguing that if a man 
said he had lost his purse it would be time to give it up, 
but if he advertised that he had found one, some one would 
be sure to claim it. 

"This may be the Lord's way of helping you to get 
to the valley," Peter Maun had told him. "Look how hard 
your mother has worked all this time. Look how hard 
you have had to work, yet it will be a long time before 
you can go at this rate. Give me the purse, and I will 
buy you an outfit that will take you there safely. This 
may be only an answer to your mother's prayers." 

This last argument appealed to the boy. Maybe it 
was the Hand of the Lord. Anyway, Maun was right about 
the emigrants; hundreds were passing every day. Dudley 
gave the purse to the older man who bought two yoke 


of oxen, a large prairie schooner, four cows, and a good 
supply of flour and groceries. Now they could go to Zion. 
The year 1850 was the peak year of the gold rush to 
California. Word had gone out of the fabulous riches to be 
found there and people from every station set out to get 
their share of it. The total emigration westward for the 
year was estimated at 55,000 persons, of whom 5,000 were 
Mormons enroute to Utah. 

The first Mormon train crossed the Missouri on the 
first day of June, 1850, with Captain Milo Andrus in charge, 
and made its real start west on June 3. It consisted of 
51 wagons, 206 persons, 9 horses, 6 mules, 184 oxen, 122 
cows, 46 sheep, 6 yearlings, 19 dogs, 1 pig, and 2 ducks. 
The church historian estimated that between seven and 
eight hundred wagons carrying passengers to the valley 
as well as two new carding machines and other machines 
crossed the plains this year. They took along about 4,000 
sheep and 5,000 head of cattle, horses and mules. 

Just before the company left the Missouri River, 
Apostle Hyde called them together and spoke to them. 
He told them that if they would be faithful and live their 
religion they would be blessed with health and their lives 
spared. He mentioned especially the reverence for the 
name of God. "Keep the name of God sacred," he promised 
them, "and your lives will be preserved." 

Dudley heard the promise and was much impressed 
by it. In his later life he used to tell how about the third 
day out, one of the oxen became obstreperous, and he, for- 
getting himself, cursed it soundly, using the name of God. 
For two years before he had worked among rough, un- 
believing men, and while he had always tried to be careful 
of his language, it seemed that the words in the back of 
his mind came out in his excitement. In the midst of his 
anger. Brother Hyde's words flashed across his mind. He 
was instantly filled with remorse and shame. He dropped 
the yoke where he stood and walked, head down, to a 
clump of willows, where he dropped on his knees and 
asked forgiveness of his Father in Heaven. He promised 
that he would never again use the name of Diety in anger 
or passion. "From that day to this, I have never taken 
the name of God in vain," he always concluded. 


The company got along very well as far as Salt Creek. 
Here the stream was so swollen that the bridge had been 
carried away. Nothing daunted, they set about making 
rafts on which to cross. They fell to with such vigor that 
they built four rafts in one day, and the next day ferried 
all their wagons across. That was better than camping 
on the bank and waiting for the flood to subside. 

Early in the journey there were a few who felt that 
they could travel faster than the company. This having 
to stay in order and wait for the slow ones annoyed some 
of them. Captain Andrus, hearing of it, called the camp 
together. To those who wished to go ahead, he said to 
go on and the rest of the company would wait two or 
three days to give them a good start. For them he had 
no promise, but for those who stayed together and re- 
mained united, he had the promise that they would have 
a prosperous journey and would reach the Valley in safety. 
After this talk, no one wanted to go on. 

That night an incident happened which seemed to 
challenge that promise. A child fell out of a wagon and 
p. wheel passed over her head and crushed it. She was 
picked up for dead, but some of the brethren administered 
to her and she was restored almost instantly. She was 
able to be around and eat her supper that night. It was 
such a miracle that all who witnessed it were impressed, 
and as the word of it spread through the camp, the people 
felt that God had his watch over them. 

The Leavitt family had an uneventful trip. Dudley 
and Mary cared for the team and the cattle; the mother 
looked after the cooking and camp arrangements; Thomas 
gathered wood and carried water and chored around gen- 
erally. For the little girls, Betsy and Priscilla, now eleven 
and nine years old, it was one unending adventure. They 
played with other children, at camp time racing among 
the wagons in games of tag or hide-and-seek; they hunted 
flowers and pretty rocks, they waded the creeks, they even 
improvised dolls out of knotted sticks or bleached bones. 

One morning they wakened to find one yoke of their 
oxen gone, a young yoke that they had worked on lead. 
They had had a chance to sell them but had refused, be- 
cause they needed them to draw their heavy load. They 
searched all around camp, and circled far out, but could 


not find any trace of them. In the meantime, the rest of 
the camp had moved on. Dudley and his mother met back 
at the wagon. What should they do? Hitch up and go 
with the group and trust their one yoke of oxen to handle the 
load, or risk being left behind alone by stopping to hunt 
further? The decided to ask the help of the Lord and 
make one more effort before giving up. 

Together they knelt and laid their troubles before 
Him. Rising from their knees, the mother went one direc- 
tion and Dudley the other, agreeing to return to the wagon 
within an hour. The mother walked straight to a clump 
of willows where she found the missing animals. They 
were soon on their way and overtook the company before 
they camped for noon. After they came to the steep 
mountains, they knew that they could never have made 
it without that extra yoke of oxen; without them, they 
must have left a part of their load by the road-side. In 
setting up their new home in Zion, they would need every- 
thing they had been able to bring. 



THE MORNING dawned clear and bright. Dudley 
was stirring as soon as it was light enough to see, 
his mother and the girls preparing breakfast. An 
air of eager expectancy hung over the entire camp. Today 
they would be in Zion! Three long, hot months they had 
been on the road. They left on the third of June, and here 
it was the last day of August. He just remembered that 
it was his birthday. Twenty years old, he was, and though 
there was only a light fuzz on his face, he felt he was a 
man. Had he not brought the family across the plains 
safe and sound? 

On the whole, it had been a good trip. They had all 
taken the counsel of Elder Hyde seriously, and there had 
been a good attitude throughout the camp, no swearing, 
and no trouble between the emigrants. Though there was 
sickness and death before and behind them in other trains, 
they had remarkably good health. They had one birth 
and one death in their company, so arrived in Salt Lake 
Valley with the same number they had when they started. 

This is remarkable, because the cholera raged along 
the road that season. Jesse W. Crosby's journal tells how 
he passed them sick and dying: 

"(June 21) Cholera still bad, nearly every wagon had 
lost some; one wagon of three men had lost two; one 
woman said she had lost her father, mother and sister; 
herself and another sister remained alone." Another cor- 
respondent said he counted forty graves in sixty miles. On 
June 7 he saw "three wagons with only one man able to 
sit up; originally twelve; six dead and buried; four dying 



of cholera . . . sixteen out of seventeen of one train 
were sick; another buried seven, and had five or six sick, 
one dying. In two instances the correspondent passed 
trains where all but one had died. He saw five graves 
beside one tent standing and another struck. Thinks 250 
had died in the last fifteen days." With some 55,000 people 
on the trail headed westward, some to Utah, some to 
Oregon, but most of them to the goldfields of California, 
it is not strange that disease should run rampant. The 
remarkable thing is that this company should escape. 

Dudley did not think of all these things; his only feeling 
was a wish that they would hurry and get there. If only 
he might go on ahead. But he knew that would never do. 
He must keep his place in the line, the third wagon of 
the second ten. Finally, after what seemed an endless 
wait to him, they were on the move, the wagons ahead 
moving up the canyon, those behind taking their places 
in the long line. 

The sun was high when they pulled out of the canyon, 
round a curve, and into the open. The broad expanse of 
the Valley stretched out below them. Captain Andrus 
directed the teams to pull out and stop, so they all could 
get a view of their new home. Though it was hardly noon, 
they would rest here and feed their animals. 

At the first glance, the Valley was covered with a 
mist, but even as they watched, it dispersed, melted in the 
sunlight. There lay the broad lake glistening; there were 
squares of brown earth freshly plowed, and green and 
yellow fields outlined with young cottonwood trees for 
fences; there were city squares etched in black and green. 
He saw his mother wipe her eyes and move her lips in a 
prayer of thanksgiving. Mary, sober and sweet, stood with 
some other girls, while the irresistible tom-boys, Betsy and 
Priscilla, climbed on the wagon wheel, waved their sun- 
bonnets and shouted, "Hurrah for Zion! Hurrah for Zion!" 

As for himself, he could not swallow the lump in his 
throat. He could not breathe deeply enough. The sight 
filled him with such exhultation that he could hardly 
contain it. He walked away, took off his hat, rumpled his 
heavy dark hair, and looked as if he could never get 
enough of the scene. 


Home at last. No more drivings or burnings or mob- 
bings. No more trouble. Now they could settle down and 
make a home and be happy, free of fear of any enemies. 
Already he found himself planning for a farm. They had 
good cows along, so they would have milk and butter for 
the winter; their supply of flour and bacon would last 
until he could earn more. 

It was about five o'clock in the afternoon when they 
passed through Great Salt Lake City, then a town of some 
five thousand people. There were adobe homes of one or 
two rooms on the blocks on the outskirts of town. As 
they neared the business district, two-story buildings out- 
lined their bulk against the sky; the Tithing Office and the 
Council House and the Deseret News Building. Captain 
Andrus had two large banners painted and fastened to the 
cover of his wagon, the first one of the train. One read, 
"Holiness to the Lord", the other, "Hail to the Governor 
of Deseret". 

People came out of the houses to wave them greet- 
ings. The trees along the wide open ditches were getting 
large enough for shade, flowers bloomed in the yards, corn 
stood ready to tassel and bean vines were climbing long 
poles in the gardens. Truly this seemed like a Zion indeed, 
a haven for weary travelers. 

They pulled into Union Square just before sunset. 
Captain Andrus, horseback, directed the camp. He sat 
more erect than usual, his large hat and his black coat 
brushed, his neckerchief clean. Even his horse seemed to 
sense that this was an important occasion, for it curved 
its neck and pranced, as it had not done for days along 
the road. When the last wagon was in place, he lifted his 
hand for attention. 

"Brethren and Sisters," he said, "we are at the end 
of our journey. We have been blessed in it. The Hand 
of God has been over us. After we separate here it will 
be up to each of you to locate according to your own judg- 
ment and the counsel of the authorities. Let us unite in 
thanksgiving to the God who has brought us here in safety." 

Instantly a hundred heads were uncovered, as men, 
women and children bowed together in the brief thanks- 
giving. As soon as the Amen was said, the bustle began. 
People from town were gathering to meet friends or to 


inquire of others still on the road. There was supper to 
prepare and cattle to feed for those who would camp here 
for the night. In the midst of their work, a tall young man 
came toward the wagon, a smile on his face. Nobody 
noticed him until Priscilla called out, "Here's Lem, mother! 
Here's Lem!" 

Sure enough, it was Lemuel, who had come ahead a 
year before, grown taller and broader, really a fine looking 
young man. He had a log house all built out at Dual settle- 
ment; he had worked for flour and potatoes, and he had 
a young beef ready to kill. This was truly a homecoming, 
especially for the tired mother. 

All winter they stayed in Dual settlement and in the 
spring moved out to Tooele where a new town was started 
and there was a better opportunity for farms. The houses 
were built close together in the form of a fort, while the 
farms were out in the valley. 

The family soon fitted into the life of the little village. 
Lemuel had already married Melvina Thompson and had 
set up an establishment of his own. Later that winter 
Mary was married to William Hamblin. That left only 
Dudley, Thomas, Betsy and Priscilla at home. They made 
themselves quite comfortable in a log cabin with home- 
made furniture. Although they worked hard, they had 
their good times, too, with dances, candy pulls, husking 
bees and quiltings for entertainment. 

It looked as if they might become prosperous until 
the Indians began to be troublesome, slipping up at night 
and stealing their cattle or driving off their horses. Men 
were sent out from Salt Lake City to help guard, but the 
Indians continued to steal in spite of the extra watch. It 
seemed that the savages knew their every move and caught 
them at every unguarded moment. For three years it was 
the same. Nothing was safe. 

Brigham Young had called Jacob Hamblin and had 
him select a group of young men to go into the mountains 
to see if they could not surprise the Indians in their camp. 
Dudley Leavitt was one of those called to go. 

On one occasion they saw the smoke of the Indian 
fires far up the canyon. The whites surprised the group 
and they fled in every direction. Dudley started after one 
who seemed to be a leader of the band. He had instruc- 


tions not to kill unless it was necessary; he, himself, did 
not want to kill. Since the brave would not stop at his 
command, he must catch him. All day long he followed 
him, up steep mountain sides, down deep gullies, through 
the brush, over the rocks. Like a deer, the Indian seemed 
tireless. Dudley himself was was in excellent shape, as fit 
for the chase as a blood hound. So the Indian could neither 
run away from him nor stop to get a chance to aim an 
arrow at him. 

It was evening before the chase ended. Both men, 
completely worn out, stopped at the base of a cliff. Dudley, 
his trousers in strings and his boots worn through, shot 
into the air three times for help, and then held the Indian 
at point of his gun until some of the posse came up. When 
Dudley took the knife, the bow and arrows from his cap- 
tive, the native pulled open his buckskin shirt, and pointing 
to his breast said, "shoot". 

Dudley told him no, but motioned for him to follow 
the other men, at the same time telling his companions 
to take him on. The Indian stood sullenly, refusing to 
move. He would not recognize the authority of others. 
It was Dudley who had captured him by literally running 
him down; it was Dudley to whom he had surrendered his 
weapons. He would go with no one else. 

When they took him into town, the people were jubi- 
lant. They held a council to see what to do with him. The 
men, remembering the depredations of the Indians, the 
number of horses they had stolen, and the trouble they 
had given, thought it might teach the others a lesson if 
they killed this one. 

"What do you say. Brother Leavitt?" the bishop asked 
Dudley, who had been sitting back from the council guard- 
ing the prisoner. 

"I wouldn't take a sheep-killing dog a prisoner and 
then kill it, to say nothing of as fine a looking man as 
that," Dudley answered. 

They all looked at the Indian. He was a fine looking 
man. Tall and well proportioned, he stood erect and with 
his arms folded, as though expecting no quarter and asking 
none. This put the matter in a different light. 

When Jacob Hamblin returned, he also favored kind- 
ness. They sent word to Brigham Young, who told them 


to feed the Indian and let him go. They kept him a while 
before they sent him for his squaw and papoose. All 
winter he stayed in the fort with the whites, and did not 
return to his people until spring. 

Years later, this same native was the means of saving 
the life of a Brother Harris. He was cutting timber in 
the mountains; he had a large tree felled and was trimming 
it, when he was suddenly surrounded by a whole band of 
bloodthirsty Indians, all armed with bows and arrows. It 
looked as though his doom were certain, when this friendly 
brave who had lived with the whites all winter in Tooele 
fort, appeared. He jumped onto a log and began to talk 
eloquently with his people. So convincing was he, that 
his neighbors dropped their bows and went their way. 
Though Brother Harris did not understand a word of the 
speech, he knew that the Indian was telling of the good 
treatment he had received the year before at the fort. 

At another time Dudley went out with Jacob Hamblin 
and others after a band who had stolen some horses. The 
posse separated, some going one way and some another 
with the plan of surrounding the Indians. Dudley was sta- 
tioned on a mountain side overlooking a well-worn trail. 
Just as he had made up his mind that the band had gone, 
he saw on the trail below, a brave and his squaw. It was 
old Big Foot, the leader of the band. His squaw had just 
given birth to a baby, and he had remained with her a 
few hours until she was able to travel. Now she carried 
the child on her back as she walked along the path behind 
her husband. He was one who had resented the whites, 
and with whom they had not been able to come to peace- 
able terms. 

A little snow had fallen and lay in patches on the 
mountain side. Since this brave was one with whom they 
had repeatedly had trouble, Dudley decided to shoot him. 
He dropped to one knee to steady his nerves and get a 
better aim. Just as he was ready to shoot, a flare of snow 
came up in his face. He thought there wasn't breeze 
enough to blow the snow, but anyway it spoiled his aim. 
He got up and went along the side of the hill, keeping in 
sight of the Indians. Again he took aim and was ready 
to shoot, but this time his gun missed fire. Running along 
the mountain, he again dropped on one knee. This time 


he took aim and fired, but the bullet hit the rocks above 
the Indian's head, scattering fragments of them into the air. 

Big Foot turned to him and said in plain English, 
"Who are you shooting at?" Later he seemed not to know 
a single word of English. 

Dudley took him and his squaw to Tooele, where they 
were treated with such kindness, that it had a marked 
effect in stopping the troubles of that place. 

During these years, Dudley lead the normal life of 
the young pioneer. He worked hard; he went to meetings 
and parties and dances. Naturally, he became interested 
in the young women, for though he was young, he was 
large and mature for his years. He had carried responsi- 
bility and done a man's part since he was fifteen. 

One girl had seemed to have a special interest in him, 
and at dances and socials he found her excellent company. 
After an acquaintance of three years and a brief court- 
ship, they were married, Dudley Leavitt and Mary Hunts- 
man. She was just seventeen, pretty and sweet, and like 
himself, mature for her years. For she, too, was a member 
of a large family and had always assumed her share of 
the responsibility. They went to the Endowment House 
in Salt Lake, in order to have the marriage properly 
solemnized. It took place on Dudley's twenty-third birth- 
day, August 30, 1853. 

He had made a log cabin for her, with a big fire place 
and a crane, a table and chairs and bedstead. She bought 
some bedding and a few dishes, so that altogether, they 
were as snug and happy as any couple could hope to be. 
When, March 16, 1855, their little daughter was born, they 
thought that life could offer them nothing better. Hannah 
Louisa, they called her. 



FOR TWO years Dudley and his wife lived happily in 
their little home at Tooele. Then in the spring of 
1855 the crickets came, passing like a cloud over 
their settlement. Behind them the fields were left as bare 
as a floor; the vegetable gardens had not one spear of 
green above the ground. It looked as if the people must 
face a season of famine, or at the best a serious food 

In June, Jacob Hamblin came home from Santa Clara, 
where he had been sent on a mission to the Indians the 
year before. His field of labor was on the very edge of 
civilization, the last settlement to the south. It really was 
not a settlement yet, for the missionaries who had been 
sent there had built a pole house and cleared a small piece 
of land. That was all. But Jacob told of a semi-tropical 
climate where cotton plants were growing, and where they 
could raise sugar cane and sweet potatoes. He had been 
counseled by Brigham Young to take his family south 
with him. 

After some consideration, Dudley and Mary decided 
to go south to live also. It would mean selling all they 
had and starting over. Dudley would take his mother, 
and his one unmarried sister, Priscilla. Both Mary and 
Betsy had married William Hamblin before this time. Still 
another was to go along — Mary's sister, Maria, who would 
be Dudley's second wife. They were married August 12, 
1855. She was not yet sixteen, but was well matured and 
was much in love with the stalwart young man who was 
already her sister's husband. Mary agreed to the arrange- 



ment; she encouraged it, in fact, for she dreaded to move 
so far away from all her family. It was the principle 
taught, a principle which all three accepted; it was ap- 
proved and encouraged by the authorities and by the people 
generally. So it was the logical thing to do. 

Jacob Hamblin's journal says: "Sept. 11, 1855, 1 started 
for Santa Clara with Oscar Hamblin, my brother, and 
Dudley Leavitt and our families. We arrived there the 
18th of October. We were kindly received by the La- 
manites; they were almost overjoyed to see our women 
and children." 

It must have been a strange caravan that pulled out 
of Tooele that September morning. The horses and cattle 
were driven ahead by Duane Hamblin on horseback; the 
sheep came next followed by some of the younger child- 
ren. Then came the covered wagons loaded with house- 
hold furniture, food, clothing and seeds. The barrels of 
water were tied on the outside, the frying pans stuck up- 
right in the bolster, buckets and kettles dangled under- 
neath, the shovel and ax were placed easy of access. At 
the back of each wagon were protruding poles upon which 
were tied crates of chickens or little pigs. Since they 
could not carry feed for their cattle, they must travel 
slowly enough to let them feed on the way, stopping for 
long noon rests and early evening, staying a day or two 
when they found good grass and then crowding over the 
barren stretches. What wonder that they were six long 
weeks on the way! 

When they arrived at Santa Clara they found the crops 
all ready to harvest. The com and squash and pumpkins 
and beans had done quite well, while the few cotton stalks, 
the first raised in Utah, were loaded with bolls. 

All winter they stayed at Santa Clara with no fear 
of Indians. Then early in April they got word that the 
northern tribes were on the war path and that all settlers 
should move together for their mutual protection. This 
meant that the group at Santa Clara should move back 
to Harmony. 

Minerva Dart Judd wrote an interesting account of 
how she and her husband moved to Santa Clara, arriving 
iate Sunday night from Parowan after a four-days' trip. 
The next morning before light, word came for them to go 


back. She says: "The company consisted of 4 wagons 
and 8 mounted men . . . Brothers Rich, Roberson, 
Riddle, Knight, Coleman, Jacob and Oscar Hamblin and 
Dudley Leavitt". 

From the records of the time, it would seem that 
Sister Judd did not know the men well. They were Robert 
Ritchie, Richard Robertson, Samuel Knight, Prime Cole- 
man, Isaac Riddle, Jacob and Oscar Hamblin and Dudley 

The women remained in Harmony a month while 
the men went back to Santa Clara to finish the fort. 
There were ten stone masons from Cedar City besides 
the missionaries. When it was finished it was a wall one 
hundred feet square, eight feet high and two feet thick, 
of hammer-faced stone. It was said to be the strongest 
fort in the Territory. Late in April, the families moved 
back to Santa Clara. 

This was a strange community, a settlement of young 
people. Jacob Hamblin, 34, was the oldest man; his wife 
Rachel Judd Hamblin, 32, the oldest woman. Dudley was 
only 26, his wife Mary, 20, and Maria only 16. Zadoc Judd 
was 29, his wife Minerva Dart Judd was only 18 and 
already the mother of two children. So it was. Full of 
youth and vigor and faith, they set out to establish them- 
selves in this last outpost on the edge of the desert. 

They planted their crops, and for a time it seemed 
that they would do well. Then the creek began to dry 
up. The Indians came to Jacob Hamblin complaining. The 
old chief, Tutsegavit, told him that the missionaries had 
promised that if the Indians would work with them they 
should have food, and now their corn was drying up. 
Jacob was much disturbed, and going off by himself, prayed 
earnestly that rain might come and save the crops. In a 
day or two a rain did fall which filled the creek and gave 
them plenty of water. Jacob said that the yield was "the 
greatest production of the earth that I ever saw". 

In writing of the same season, Zadoc K. Judd told 
how the fruit trees grew, from pits, ten feet high the first 
season, so that they could plant the seeds and transplant 
the orchard the same year. He said the squash vines 
climbed up the cottonwood trees and the squash hung 
like gigantic fruit from the branches. 


This year the cotton did well, too. They had saved 
the seed of all they raised the first year. James G. Bleak's 
record says they planted five acres and raised two hundred 
pounds of cotton. Their experience the first year trying 
to pick out the seeds by hand had been so discouraging 
that Zadoc K. Judd invented a crude cotton gin. It was 
constructed on the same plan as a clothes wringer, the 
rollers about % of an inch in diameter. A crank was at- 
tached to each roller, turning them in opposite directions. 
Two people were needed to run it, one to turn one crank 
and feed the lint in, the other to pull the lint away and 
turn the other crank. By diligent labor, these two could 
get about two pounds of lint a day and four pounds of seed. 
Jam^es G. Bleak's record says that thirty yards of cloth 
was made by Caroline Beck Knight, Maria Woodbury Has- 
kell, and Sister Lyman Curtis. Minerva Dart Judd's journal 
says: "This fall Mother Leavitt came down and being an 
experienced weaver, taught us the art of weaving. We 
made thirty yards of cloth." 

Both accounts probably refer to the same accomplish- 
ment, but whichever it was, the sisters were so proud of 
it that they sent a sample to President Young. He was 
much interested and sent some on to the elders in England 
to be evaluated by experts. 

The next year the Deseret News for October 20, 1858 
gave an interesting comment: "The standard price for 
ginned cotton is 75c a pound. The yield of cotton is 1200 
pounds per acre, but seed makes up two-thirds of the 
weight. The cost of preparing for market is trifling, prob- 
ably $10.00 or $15.00 per one hundred pounds." 

In the fall of 1856, Dudley went back north for a 
load of provisions, leaving both his wives at the fort with 
the other families. Mary, especially, hated to see him 
leave, for she was soon to give birth to another child. There 
seemed nothing else to do, as the roads would be closed 
with the coming of winter, and if he made the trip on 
schedule, he could get back in plenty of time. 

But he did not make the trip on schedule. The other 
women tried to console Mary with the idea that he. 
wouldn't be much good if he were there. Then there was 
the terrible uncertainty that something had happened to 
him, that perhaps he would not get back at all. 


When finally he did drive up to the fort, he was met 
by Maria, her hands on her hips. 

"What do you mean, to come stringing; up here now?" 
she began, as though to scold him soundly. It was her 
way of expressing her relief at his arrival. "A fine husband 
you've turned out to be. Come on in here." 

Mary was in bed, a bundle by her side. The new 
son was the first white child born in Utah's Dixie, Nov. 
30, 1856. They called him Dudley, Jr. 

In the meantime, they had had some trouble with 
the Indians. The local tribe, headed by Tutsegavit, had 
been very friendly, but old Agarapoots and his band moved 
into the valley and brought with them an attitude of de- 
fiance. They definitely did not approve of the white sett- 
lers; they made fun of the Piedes who thought the Mor- 
mons could "make good medicine" to help the water come 
and the crops grow. 

Though Agarapoots had not committed any offense 
other than killing a beef, he stalked about with glowering, 
threatening looks. Whenever the men left the fort to 
work in the fields all day, they cautioned the women to 
get wood and water inside and keep the doors securely 
fastened. But it was so hot in the enclosure, with no shade 
but the tule and sod roofs of the hduses, that sometimes 
the children lingered along the creek bank under the trees. 

One time as they were playing outside, they saw Agar- 
apoots and his band coming horseback. The children scur- 
ried inside as fast as they could, but before the desperate 
women could get the gates closed, Agarapoots and two 
of his men crowded inside. With rare presence of mind, 
Aunt Rachel Hamblin told them to come to her wick-e-up 
and she would give them some bread. Though she was 
much frightened, she maintained a calm exterior. 

The other women bolted the heavy doors and boosted 
a small boy over the wall on the opposite side from the 
gates, telling him to catch an old gray mare that was 
feeding in the pasture, and ride for the men. The boy 
succeeded in slipping through the brush and weeds, catch- 
ing the mare, and mounting her, before the Indians dis- 
covered him. They yelled at him and shot their arrows, 
but he was out of range and only rode the faster. 

This put the affair in a different light. Agarapoots 


did not relish the thought of having the men come and 
find him inside, so he asked to be let out. The more 
anxious he was to go, the more reluctant Rachel acted to 
open the gates. Finally she unbarred them and opening 
them just wide enough for the Indians to squeeze through, 
quickly closed and barred them again. Agarapoots and 
his men rode away in a cloud of dust. 

The first tragedy in the little community happened 
when Maria Woodbury Haskell, the seventeen-year-old 
wife of Thales, was shot by a young Indian. Thales was 
away up the stream taking out beaver dams and the other 
men were at work in the fields, when a young Indian, 
presumably friendly, came into the fort. He went to the 
house where Maria was working. Thinking he was hungry, 
she set about getting some food for him. He took the gun 
from above the mantel and began examining it, when it 
discharged, the bullet entered the girl's thigh and lodged 
under the skin near the upper part of the abdomen. 

They sent word to Thales, who came as quickly as he 
could horseback, arriving about daylight the next morning. 
In the meantime Jacob Hamblin had taken the bullet out 
with a razor and the women had kept hot turpentine packs 
on the wound. From the first, the case was hopeless. She 
was shot Saturday morning and died Sunday morning, after 
suffering intensely. 

It was a blow to the little group. They made a casket 
out of the planks from the bottom of a wagon box, and 
dressed her in her white underwear and wedding dress, 
and held a funeral service in the room that they kept for 
meetings. It was hard to do the singing, harder to find 
words to comfort the grief -stricken husband, hardest of 
all to put one who had been so radiant and beautiful into 
the hot, dry soil of the desert. 

The Indian who did the shooting had gone at once 
to Jacob Hamblin and insisted so earnestly that it was an 
accident, that he did not mean to, that he did not know 
what the gun would do, and so on, that the white men 
decided, in the interest of peace, not to do anything with 



THE YEAR 1857 was an eventful one for the little 
colony on the Santa Clara. Other families had 
joined the group, until now there was a settlement. 
A letter from Thales Haskell dated Oct. 6, 1858, gives some 
important information as to who were here at this time. 
He says that Jacob Hamblin, Samuel Knight, Ira Hatch, 
Richard Robinson, Amos Thornton, Prime Coleman, Benja- 
min Knell, Thales H. Haskell, Robert Dickson, Isaac Riddle, 
Robert Ritchie and David Tullis have been on this mission 
since its commencement, "and are called by us, 'the old 
missionaries' ". Dudley Leavitt, Oscar Hamblin and Fred- 
rick Hamblin were added to the mission October 15, 1855, 
Francis Hamblin in the spring of 1856 and Zadoc K. Judd 
at the same time; Thomas Eckels was added May 3, 1857, 
Lemuel Leavitt and Jeremiah Leavitt May 22, 1857. This 
letter is copied into the Journal History under the above 

While Jacob Hamblin's Journal gives the date of the 
first Leavitt family to arrive in Santa Clara as October 
18 instead of October 15, we can be reasonably sure from 
this letter that Lemuel and Jeremiah came on the date 
given. This made the family group more complete, for 
William Hamblin with his wives Mary and Betsy also 
moved down. Dudley had cleared some land further up 
the creek and established himself near where the town 
of Gunlock now stands. William and his wives moved there, 
also, and it was for William Hamblin that the settlement 
was named. He was a great man with guns, such a good 
shot that the Indians gave him a name which meant "eyes- 
in-the-back-of-the-head". His friends often spoke of him 
as Gun-shot Hamblin or Gunlock Hamblin, so that his 
ranch was Gunlock's Place and later just plain Gunlock. 



On August 4, 1857 President Brigham Young wrote a 
letter appointing Jacob Hamblin president of the Santa 
Clara mission. In August of that year Apostle George A. 
Smith, William H. Dame, James H. Martineau, and other 
prominent men visited the Santa Clara mission. In the 
report published in the Deseret News, Mr. Martineau said: 
"The crops were much injured by the drought, the river 
having entirely dried up so as not to reach the settle- 
ment. Many of the natives were assembled here to see 
the Mormon Captain and were very friendly. Brother 
Hamblin had great favor with the natives, who look to 
him as a father, and truly he deserves that title from the 
interest manifest by him in their welfare." (Des. News 
7: 227), During this visit, Jacob chose as his counselors 
in the presidency, Dudley Leavitt and Samuel Knight. 

The real reason for the visit of these brethren was 
to warn the saints of the approach of Johnson's army, 
and to advise them to save and store their grain. Word 
of the approaching army had reached them some time 
earlier, but now they were to prepare to fight. They heard 
of the fortifications that were being made in Emigration 
Canyon, of the attempts to harrass and annoy the army, 
and of the determination that they should not enter the 

The news created great excitment among the people. 
They gathered together and rehearsed the wrongs they 
had suffered in Missouri and Illinois; they retold the way 
in which they had been driven and the hardships they 
had endured. Here were some whose families and friends 
had been shot down like dogs at Haun's Mill. Here were 
some who had lost almost their whole family by cholera 
on the plains. Not one but had his baci^ground of suf- 
fering; not one but was determined not to be driven again. 
They would fight to protect their homes, poor though they 
were. If they were forced to, they would burn everything, 
flee to the rocky canyons, and hide their women and 
children in the mountains. 

In less than a month after the visit of Apostle Smith, 
the greatest tragedy in all history of Utah took place, the 
Mountain Meadov/s Massacre. At this time a company 
from Missouri and Arkansas numbering some one hundred 
and twenty persons were massacred by Indians and whites. 


This is a story of which the whole truth has not yet been 
published. Since the details of it do not belong to this 
book, we can only wonder as to Dudley's relation to it. 
Jacob Hamblin was away from home at the time; he had 
gone to Salt Lake City to marry Priscilla Leavitt, Dudley's 
baby sister, as his plural wife. That left Dudley Leavitt 
and Samuel Knight in charge at Santa Clara. 

John D. Lee's confessions list both Dudley and Samuel 
as having been present on that occasion. Old-timers, when 
questioned about it, have only said, "Well, if he wasn't 
there, he was somewhere close around." His son, Henry, 
says, "It was always my understanding that father was 
one of the scouts who rode horseback with messages back 
and forth". 

As the writer of this book, I should like to tell an 
incident which is among the most vivid of my childhood 
recollections. It was my business to do the chores, and 
twice each day as I went to and from the corral, I stopped 
to leave some fresh milk for grandpa and grandma. One 
night as he sat before the fire, he let his cane drop back 
against his body and stretching out his hands said, "I thank 
God that these old hands have never been stained by human 

Something about his tone and manner sent little 
sticklers up my spine and set my imagination running. 
Why should his hands be stained by human blood? I 
thought then that he was glad he had never killed an 
Indian, for his life was such that there were many times 
when he might have justified himself in that. Now I think 
he was referring to the affair at the Mountain Meadows 
and being thankful that he had no m-ore part in it than he 

One of his sons says that he told him the men at the 
Meadows were in the same positions as soldiers in any 
other war. They were at war. Military law had been de- 
clared, and the men could only obey orders, as any other 
soldiers would have to do. Whatever Dudley knew about 
it, his lips were sealed. He never discussed it. Only in his 
later life would he even make a comment about it. He 
seemed to have followed the advise that was given out 
later that it was a bad business at best, and that talking 
about it would not make it any better. 


The next company which passed through the state 
after the massacre were likewise threatened by the Indians. 
The natives had tasted blood; they were anxious to push 
this war against the "Mericats". But evidently horror- 
stricken at the news of what had happened at the meadows, 
President Brigham Young had ordered that this company 
be taken safely through to California. Ira Hatch acted as 
their guide. When word came to the leaders that the 
Indians on the Muddy planned to exterminate this company 
cdso, Jacob Hamblin sent Dudley Leavitt and others to 
the scene. Jacob's Journal says: "Brother Dudley Leavitt 
came in from the Muddy and told me that the Indians 
had robbed the company (previously spoken of) of near 
300 head of cattle. They made their descent upon the 
train 7 miles west of the Muddy by moonlight and by 
taking advantage of the deep ravines they completed the 
design. The missionaries went with the cattle and Indians 
according to the instructions given to Brother Leavitt to 
prevent further outbreaks. The brethren saved nearly 100 
head of cows from being destroyed and wasted by the 
Indians, and brought them to the Mountain Meadows." 

From this it would seem that this attack was part 
of the Mormon warfare against the United States, wherein 
they were determined to weaken the enemy without shed- 
ding any blood. Lot Smith and his men were carrying on 
similar activities with regard to the army to the east. In 
his later life, Dudley used to tell of this incident. 

"It was like taking our lives in our hands," he said. 
"If any one but the servants of God had asked me to go 
on that trip, I would have refused, but when I was told 
to go, and promised that I should go in peace and return 
in safety, and that not a hair of my head should be in- 
jured, I went." Then he told of how he found the Indians 
gathered and dressed in their war paint and feathers; how 
he talked with them and persuaded them to take the cattle 
and let the company go on in peace; and how tying a red 
bandana around his head and giving a mighty whoop, he 
led the stampede himself. "The next spring I had to ride 
the range three weeks to gather the cattle up again and 
give them back to the agent who came back from Cali- 
fornia for them," he always said to end the story. 

Later that same fall he was sent with Ira Hatch on 


a mission to the lyat tribe in the south. That meant that 
he left at the Santa Clara mission his two wives and two 
children, Hannah, now past three years old, and Dudley, 
Jr., just one year old. The fall work was done, and since 
they were going south into the desert country, the logical 
time would be to go in the winter. Jacob Hamblin's hand- 
written journal tells the story of what happened to these 
men as they told it to him when they met him at Las 
Vegas on their return on the last day of December 1857. 

"We left the Vegas with three of our old Pah-ute friends, 
traveled three days and arrived at the first lyat village. 
A portion of this village were Pah-ute descent and were 
our warm friends. They told us that if we went to the 
main village, where the War Chief resided, they were 
afraid we would be killed. The next day, not withstanding, 
we pursued our journey — quite a company of Pah-utes 
followed us and directed us to the head War Chief. 

"Shortly after our arrival we were informed by our 
Pah-ute friends that the lyats intended to kill us. The 
lyats took both of our animals and gave us to understand 
that we could not leave. 

"We met with an lyat that could speak a little English 
— we told him that we were friends and had come a great 
distance to see and talk with them. He said, 'White men 
mean and dishonest and are not our friends'. A large 
number of lyats soon gathered around us. The Pah-utes 
told us that the lyats were going to kill us, and began 
pleading with tears in their eyes for our lives to be spared. 
One of the Vegas Indians came to Brother Hatch and said, 
'We told you last night they would kill you if you came 
here'. And then burst into tears. 

"The Chief then called a vote to see who would sanc- 
tion our death. All of the lyats formed themselves in single 
file with their chief at their head, showing by this that they 
sanctioned our death. The Pah-utes gathered around us — 
some of them wept aloud. 

"Brother Hatch then asked the privilege of talking to 
the Great Spirit before dying. 

"He then knelt down and offered a simple prayer in 
the Pah-ute tongue, asking his Heavenly Father to soften 
the hearts of the Indians that they might spare their lives, 
and that they might know we came here to do them 


good and not harm. This the Pah-utes interpreted to the 
lyats. Chah-ne-wants, the chief, was much effected, and 
his daughter, an amiable looking girl, seemed to take up 
warmly in our favor. The old chief then hurried us back 
into the end of a long lodge, and built a fire in front and 
stood guard over us. They then brought one of our animals 
and tied it to the door post. One of our Pah-ute friends 
came in and told us that the lyats had killed the other 
animal and that many of them were determined to kill us 
before we left. We spent all the fore part of the night 
talking to the chief through the Pah-ute interpreter, giving 
him much good instruction — telling him things that must 
shortly come to pass with the Indians. The next day we 
were permitted to leave with our worn out mules and 
scanty supply of provisions. We made the best of our 
way to this place." 

Since this conversation took place either on the last 
day of December, 1857, or the first of January, 1858, we 
may assume that Dudley arrived back at Santa Clara 
within two weeks. In his later life he often told of the 
hardships of that trip from the lyat village to Las Vegas. 
The desert country over which they passed offered little 
for food except the long pod of the mesquite tree, which 
at this time of year would be gone. They were forced to 
kill desert animals for food, lizards and snakes and chip- 
munks. They debated as to whether or not they should 
boil up their moccasins to eat. But they tightened their 
belts and pushed on to Las Vegas, where they found friendly 
Indians and food. 

At Santa Clara they found an increase in the popu- 
lation from the saints that had left San Bernardino, Las 
Vegas and other points south. They helped to build the 
first meeting house outside the fort, an adobe structure 
16 by 24 feet. Among the families who stayed at Santa 
Clara that winter and who applied to President Young 
for permission to stay there permanently were Hiram Judd, 
Lucius Fuller, John W. Young, Lorenzo Allen, David Pettit, 
Robert Crowe, Brown Crowe, William Hamblin, Edwin 
Hamblin, Thomas Leavitt, William Crosby, Tailor Crosby, 
Sidney Burton, Andrew Gibbons, Decater Thompson. Some 
ten other families were living temporarily at Santa Clara, 


Early in March of 1858 Jacob Hamblin was sent south 
again, this time to investigate the presence of a steamer 
on the Colorado River. He took with him five men, one 
of whom was Dudley Leavitt. The excitement regarding 
the army had not abated. In the north the people were 
preparing to leave their homes and flee south. Rumors 
had come that an army was going to be sent against the 
Mormons from California, so this ship was viewed with 

The party went to Call's Landing, some one hundred 
and seventy miles from Santa Clara, and some thirty miles 
from Las Vegas. The steamer was under command of 
Lieutenant Ives, and was a government exploring party. 
When the Mormons reached the shore near where the 
vessel lay, they sent Thales Haskell out to the ship to see 
what he could find out of the party and its purpose. There 
was mutual distrust, the Mormon man wanting to learn 
what he could without telling his identity, and the explorers 
suspicious of him and his motives. He learned little beyond 
what he was able to observe, and returned to his com- 
panions the next morning. He knew it was not a war ship, 
that it did not carry soldiers, and that its mission probably 
had little to do with the difficulties in Utah. 

When the group reached Las Vegas, they left Oscar 
Hamblin there to help the Indians plant crops and to 
maintain friendly relations with them. Two of the brethren 
returned to Santa Clara, while Jacob and Dudley went 
thirty-five miles south to where there was a deposit of lead. 
With the condition of war existing, it was important for 
them to get lead for bullets. 

Jacob Hamblin's biography says only: "Having some 
little knowledge of smelting the ore, our efforts were a 
success." They built a crude smelter, the furnace walls 
of adobe and the container on top of tin, something like 
a molasses boiler. The hard mesquite wood made a fire 
hot enough to melt the lead, which they ran through a pipe 
in the bottom into places hollowed out in the sand. For 
years the remains of this lead smelter stood there, near 
where was later the Portisee mine. 

Dudley had been put in charge of the horses, and 
cautioned not to let them get out of his sight. He thought 
he was watching them. As he went about preparing the 


supper over the camp fire, he looked up to see his mares 
just rounding the point of a hill. Calling out to them, he 
ran to head them off, and since he did not have his gun, 
he picked up two rocks in his hands as he ran. 

But he was not quick enough. He followed as fast as 
he could go, but when he came to the mouth of the wash, 
he could only see a cloud of dust far out on the desert, 
as the fleeing Indians left him with no means of pursuit. 
This was a real tragedy. To be left on the desert with 
an outfit was bad enough, but to be left on foot was serious, 

They agreed that Dudley should go back to Las Vegas 
for help and that Jacob should remain with the wagons. 
Jacob's biography tells of his experiences, but says nothing 
of Dudley except that he started back thirty-five miles 
on foot to Las Vegas. Dudley told how, after he had 
sent Oscar Hamblin out with a team to get Jacob, he 
started home on foot. He was now twenty-eight years of 
age, and in excellent condition; he might as well be going 
toward home as waiting around for a week or two for 
teams. So he set out. He went some fifty miles across 
the desert to the Indian village on the Muddy River. Here 
he rested a day or two and looked around in the hope 
that he might find his horses. When he was ready go on, 
his native friends filled his pockets with parched corn, and 
gave him a little jerked horse meat. He did not know 
whether this came from the hind quarter of one of his 
own mares or not, but he accepted it gladly. 

Leaving the Muddy, he followed the course of the 
Virgin River up to near where the town of Littlefield now 
stands, and then cut across the mountains towards Santa 
Clara. This last thirty miles proved almost too much for 
him. His scanty supply of food was gone, and he was 
weakened by his long journey. The desert offered little 
at any time; now it seemed more barren than usual. He 
trudged along, a lone figure in the expanse of sage and 
rabbit brush, tightening his belt and looking out for any 
sign of food. He often told in his later years how he came 
to a place where a California emigrant had camped, and 
picked up the kernels of barley that had dropped from 
the horses' nose bags. He even kicked apart piles of dry 
manure in search of whole kernels that the desert rats 


had not yet carried off. 

At last he felt that he could go no farther. He used 
the last bit of strength he had to climb a large rock to lie 
down, thinking that here, perhaps, the animals could not 
get at his body or a passing wagon would be sure to find 
him. He had not been there long when a friendly old Indian 
came along. He had no food, but he had a pipe with a 
little tobacco. He gave Dudley a few puffs, wrapped his 
oose rope tightly around the hungry man's body, and of- 
fered to help him to the Indian camp. Stimulated by the 
tobacco, sustained by the rope corset, and bouyed up by 
the thought that help was near, Dudley made his way 
to the tepees. The squaws would give him only a little 
bit at first, a few kernels of wheat to chew slowly. After 
a little while they gave him more, until at last he was 
able to take a gourd full of a stew which they were 
cooking. He was forced to remain here resting a day or 
two before he could make the few remaining miles to his 

It was now April and time for the crops to be in, 
though the wheat was already well up. Dudley entered 
into his work with his usual vigor, planting not only cotton 
but sugar cane and vegetables. By this time, peace was 
established; word came that the saints in the north were 
moving back to their homes, and the terror and tension 
were over. There was every promise of a good harvest. 

The people of the south decided to really celebrate 
the Twenty-fourth of July. It was the first time they 
had felt like having a hilarious time since they had come 
south. The first years were so hard and they were so few. 
Then the year and a half just past had been one of worry 
and concern. Now they decided to all go to Washington, 
the newly established town some ten miles away and cele- 

Such a bustle of preparation! There were clothes to 
be made ready, made over, or retrimmed or freshened up. 
There was cooking to be done, for everyone must take 
his own food along, and some to spare. 

In the Leavitt wagon were the two wives, the two 
children and Dudley's mother. Everyone else was going, 
too, so they planned to travel together. They left Santa 
Clara after an early lunch and arrived in Washington after 


sunset. They camped on the public square, where were, 
also, some wagons from Harmony and Toquerville. Around 
the camp fires they visited, told stories and sang songs. 
The next morning they were awakened by shots of cannon 
— improvised by placing anvils on top of each other with 
a shot of powder underneath. 

The meeting at nine o'clock consisted of spirited toasts 
and speeches, songs and music by the band, a flute and 
drum. In the afternoon sports of all kinds were held, foot 
races, wrestling, boxing bouts for the men, visiting in the 
shade for the women. A grand ball finished the day. The 
ground had been cleared, packed and dampened; a bonfire 
gave light. How they cut and swirled and "swung their 

Dudley loved to dance. No one was lighter on his feet 
than he. He could go through the intricate changes of 
the quadrille; he could make the Hostler's Four look like 
a piece of art. He was one of the few who could do justice 
to the double shuffle. John D. Lee was another who could 
dance and enjoy it, the fringed ends of his long red sash 
swinging wide on the turns. Maria and Mary were not 
less keen in their enjoyment, nor Minerva Judd, nor Caro- 
line Knight, nor any of the other young women. After 
all, they were only girls in years and girls at heart, though 
they were married and some of them had babies. 

The next day they stayed until after noon, resting 
and visiting, the men swapping yams and the women ex- 
changing patterns and recipes. After dinner they hitched 
up their teams and started for home. The occasion would 
be a bright memory for them all and would give them 
talking material for months. It seemed so good to have 
moved out from the cloud of fear and hate and suspicion 
which had surrounded them, to know that the war was 
over and that peace was established. 



AFTER THE fall work was done, Jacob Hamblin de- 
cided that they should visit the Moquis Indians 
across the Colorado River. After all, they had 
been sent here as missionaries to the Indians, and it was 
their duty to do all that they could to gain the friendship 
of the natives and to try to teach them the ways of civiliz- 
ation. The work among the Piutes and Piedes had been 
discouraging, because these tribes were very backward. 
Jacob thought he would like to spend some effort with 
what he called "the nobler branches of the race". 

On the twenty-sixth of September, 1858, they held a 
special conference at Santa Clara to decide upon policies 
to pursue among the Indians. Since the natives at the 
Muddy Valley and Las Vegas had been so thieving, they 
decided to withdraw the missionaries from those two places, 
and work instead among the Navajos and the Moquis. 

It was the last of September when they set out. Jacob 
Hamblin's Biography gives the list of those who went as 
Ammon M. Tenney, Durais Davis, Frederick and William 
Hamblin, Dudley and Thomas Leavitt, Samuel Knight, Ira 
Hatch, Andrew S. Gibbons, Benjamin Knell and a Piute 
guide, Naraguts. The minutes of the meeting held, give 
also, the names of Thales Haskell anl Lucius Fuller as 
among the party. 

The country over which they must travel was largely 
unexplored, a barren, rocky land, destitute of food or 
game. After ten days' journey, much of it over dangerous 
rocks and cliffs, they came at last to "The Crossing of the 
Fathers" on the Colorado River. The next day the mule 
which carried the provisions was either lost or stolen, so 



they were three days without food, except what they 
could shoot. Then they came to a garden growing. Risking 
the displeasure of the owners if they were caught, they 
took a large squash. They cooked it and decided that it 
must be a different variety than they had at home because 
it was so much sweeter. Later they decided that it was 
just their hunger that made it taste sweeter. 

In his Biography, Jacob Hamblin describes the Indian 
villages thus: 

"Four miles further on we came to an Oriba village 
of about three hundred dwellings. The buildings were of 
rock, laid up in clay mortar. The village stands on a cliff 
with perpendicular sides, and which juts out into the plain 
like a promontory into the sea. The promontory is narrow 
where it joins the table land back of it. 

"Across this the houses were joined together. The en- 
trance to the town on the east side was narrow and difficult. 
The town was evidently located and constructed for defense 
from the marauding bands around. 

"The houses are usually three stories high. The second 
and third stories are set back from the front the width of 
the one below, so that the roofs of the lower stories have 
the appearance of terraces. 

"For security the first story can only be entered by 
ascending to the roof, and then down a ladder into the 
room below. 

"After our arrival in the village, the leading men 
counseled together a few minutes, then we were sep- 
arated and invited to dine with different families." 

Jacob's account goes on to describe the homes and 
food of these Indians, and of the way they contrived to 
live here in the midst of the desert. Luke Johnson gave 
an account of the trip to George A. Sm.ith on December 
28, so they must have been back by thai date. He also 
told of their cliff dwellings, accessible only by foot or mule 
back, and of the cisterns in which they stored their water. 

Of the hardships on the way home, he said nothing. 
Jacob's Biography outlines them briefly, but in the minds 
of the men who endured them, they were never to be 

The missionaries had heard a legend that some Welsh 
men had disappeared into this section several hundred 


years before, had intermarried with the Indians, and lost 
their identity. There were supposed to be some descendants 
with light hair and fair skins and some Welsh words in- 
corporated into the Indian language. The group of Mormon 
visitors found none of these evidences. They stayed long 
enough to establish friendly relations, then leaving four 
of their number — William Hamblin, Andrew Gibbons, 
Thomas Leavitt and Benjamin Knell — to rem.ain with 
the natives, the rest of the group started back to Utah. 

The trip home was long and hard. Winter had set in. 
All day they faced a piercing wind, and at night did not 
dare light a fire for fear of roving bands of Indians. They 
had expected to get food at an Orubi village, but were 
disappointed. To add to their troubles, one of their horses 
carrying what little provisions they had got away. That 
left them entirely without. To add more to their troubles, 
it began to snow, until in a whole day they went only 
eight miles. 

When they camped at Pipe Springs, the snow was 
knee deep. They pitched their tent and prepared to face 
another cold night without food. For two days Jacob had 
ridden almost in silence. Some of the men thought he was 
angry, but as a matter of fact, he was worried and almost 
ill from exposure. After huddling a while in the rude 
shelter, Dudley and Lucius Fuller went out and began 
saddling their horses. Jacob came out and asked them 
what they were going to do. 

"We are going home, or we are going to die in the 
attempt," they told him. 

"The chances are you can't make it," Jacob told them. 
"Your horses are already jaded, and in this storm it would 
be hard to find the road. If you did get through, you could 
not get help back to us for a week, and we cannot go hungry 
that long. I see no way but to kill one of the horses for 

Without a word, Dudley pulled the saddle from his, 
mare and motioned for his companion to shoot it. Jacob 
turned and walked into the tent, tears running down his 
cheeks. He felt that he had got the group into this diffi- 
culty, and was afraid the men would complain or argue 
among themselves as to whose horse should be shot. 

"Some of the men had steaks cut out of the hind 


quarter of that horse almost before it stopped kicking," 
Dudley said years later. "No meat since has ever tasted 
so good." 

For two days they lived on this diet, horse meat with- 
out salt. After the first hunger was satisfied, it did not 
seem so good, but it was better than nothing. On the third 
day the storm was over and they made their way toward 

The whole Santa Clara settlement was relieved to see 
their horses file down the street. Pehaps none were more 
relieved than Dudley's two wives, both of whom were 
expecting babies. Mary's third child, Orin David, was 
bom Jan. 8, 1859, and Maria's first baby, Orilla, arrived 
on April 28, 1859. 

The two sisters, left alone so much, had grown to 
depend upon each other, and cooperated in every way. 
They shared each other's worries and worked for their 
mutual good. Maria waited on Mary during her confine- 
ment, and then when her baby arrived, Mary was able 
to take care of her. More than that, the one layette could 
do for both babies, for in three months, little Orin could 
be "shortened". 

Their work went on as usual, planting and harvesting, 
until early fall, when another event of moment happened. 
Dudley married a third wife, Thirza Riding, a sixteen- 
year-old girl from England. She had left her native land 
with her parents nearly twelve years before. They had re- 
verses, and were forced to stop back at St. Louis and 
work to get an outfit. For her the trip across the plains was 
one round of good times. In Salt Lake City her father, 
who was a tinsmith, found plenty of work. They lived 
there for five years. Then at the time of the move south, 
they came to Provo. At this time, Thirza had a white 
swelling on her leg. For six months she was under the 
doctor's care. At last it seemed that she must have the 
leg taken off, but her mother would not listen to it. 

"If I must bury her, I will bury her with both her 
legs," she said. 

The girl was on crutches for over a year. In the 
meantime, the family was called to Santa Clara. She was 
still on crutches when they arrived. 

What it was that attracted her to Dudley, or him to 


her, we can only guess. He was twenty-nine years old, 
a perfect physical specimen, with a shock of brown hair, 
clear blue eyes, and a sense of fun. She was a slip of a 
girl with long hair, which she let hang loose at the dances, 
with only a ribbon around her head. She, too, was full of 
fun, she loved to dance and sing and laugh. It did not 
matter to her that he already had two wives and four 
children. He still was what she wanted. They were married 
on August 11, 1859, at Manti, Utah, by I. Morley. 

Though there must have been some heartaches on 
the part of the other two wives, they accepted the third 
with good grace. Dudley established them all at Gunlock. 
There was plenty of fertile soil there and it was nearer 
the head of the stream where the water did not dry up 
in the summer. 

The year 1859 had been a dry year and the crops did 
not do well, at least the wheat crop did not. Flour was so 
scarce that people were forced to try substitutes. They 
ground cane seed, but found that it would not make bread. 
Com was their chief diet, com meal mush, com bread, 
hominy. They tried as many ways as possible to get 
variety but it was still com, though there were beans, 
squash, and greens to go with it. If they had a small 
biscuit of wheat bread for dinner on Sunday, they thought 
they did well. 

In January, 1859, the county seat was moved from 
New Harmony to Washington. The early records of the 
court proceedings, now on file at the Washington County 
Court House give some interesting sidelights on conditions. 
The tax assessment this year was one fourth of one per- 
centum; payment was in produce. Wheat was $1.50 a 
bushel, cotton 50c a pound, clean washed wool, 75c per 
pound. (J. G. Bleak Bk. A — 67) . 

Early in 1860 Dudley made a trip north with molasses 
and dried fruit with which to buy the things his families 
needed. On the way up he stopped as usual at the home 
of Sarah Smith McGregor at Parowan. She was a daughter 
of Aunt Hannah Fish. On his return, he again stopped 
at her home. Years before, Sarah had adopted an Indian 
girl, Janet, who went by the name of Janet Smith, as that 
was the name of Sarah's first husband. She had lived in 
the home since infancy, had grown up with the other 


children, and had the same training. She attended school 
and took part in church activities as they did; she helped 
with the home work, but v/as in no sense a slave. 

On his way home, Dudley got out early. He pulled 
out of the yard before sunrise, ^\dthout waiting to eat 
breakfast with the family, for he hoped that he could get 
home in two more days. He had got out of town, past the 
fields, and to the open road, when he was overtaken by 
a boy on horseback. 

"Brother George A. Smith wanted to see you before 
you left town," the boy said, and then wheeled his horse 
and galloped back without explaining what was wanted. 
Dudley supposed that Apostle Smith had some message to 
send to Jacob Hamblin, or some instructions with regard 
to the Indians. So he turned his team around and went 
back to town. 

Apostle Smith was waiting for him alone in the parlor. 
He hestitated a little and then asked Dudley if he had 
ever considered marrying an Indian girl. This question 
came as a complete surprise to the young man. No, he 
couldn't say that he had. The Apostle went on to say 
that it would be his counsel for Dudley to marry the girl, 
Janet Smith. This, too, was a surprise. He had known 
her for years, but had never thought of her as a wife. 

Brother Smith went on to explain that the girl had 
received an offer of marriage from a white man, as a 
plural wife, but had refused it. The family could not under- 
stand why she had turned down so good an offer; they 
felt that the opportunity to marry a white man was one 
she could not afford to pass up. For a long time she would 
tell them nothing, but this morning after Dudley had left 
in such haste and without even a leave taking, she bad 
broken down. 

"There is only one man that I have ever seen that 
I would like to marry," she said, "and that man is Dudley 

He went on to enumerate the girl's good qualities and 
to show that with her training she should make an ex- 
cellent wife. Then, too, there was the promise that the 
Lamanites should yet become a white and delightsome 
people; they were of the blood of Ephraim and would 
eventually come into their own. 


Dudley hestitated. He thought of the three wives at 
home, Thirza, a bride of less than six months, both the 
others with young babies. The season had been so hard 
that it was almost more than he could do to provide for 
the family he had. He dreaded the complications that were 
sure to arise by bringing another wife into the group, es- 
pecially an Indian wife. 

"If you will take that girl, marry her, give a home 
and a family, and do your duty by her, I promise you in 
the name of the Lord that you will be blessed," George A. 
Smith said solemnly. 

"I'll do it," Dudley said, without further hesitation. 

The girl and the family were called in, the marriage 
ceremony performed then and there, Janet's things loaded 
into the wagon, and the couple started on their strange 

The story of the arrival home comes to us by word 
of mouth through the years. His three wives, who had 
been anxiously watching for him, hurried out to the wagon. 
To say that they were surprised would be putting it mildly; 
to say that they were pleased would be far from true. One 
cannot help being a little sorry for the girl on the wagon 
who received so cold a reception. Mary said little. As the 
first wife, she knew her first duty was to try to maintain 
order and dignity in her husband's house. She could wait 
for the explanation which she knew would be forthcoming. 
Maria sputtered a little; Thirza bundled up her things and 
went home to her parents. She felt that her parents would 
understand. She could have accepted another wife, she 
told herself — but an Indian! It was more than she 
would take. 

At home she received no sympathy. Both her mother 
and her father told her she was wrong to be so jealous 
and stubborn. 

"You take your things and go right back," her father 
told her. "You should be ashamed to make such a fuss. 
When you married him, he had two other wives. They 
were kind to you and accepted you into their home. Now 
you do the same. He has acted entirely within his right. 
If he wants another wife, he can take her. How do you 
know but what this was counsel of the authorities? Any- 
way, you go back, act like a lady, and hold your tongiie." 

In a about a week Thirza went back. Dudley had 


made no effort to come to her, to coax her back, or to 
offer any explanation. She had gone out of his house of 
her own free will; she could return when she got ready. 
But he was happy and relieved when she did come. Now 
he could divide the things he had brought from the city. 
He had made a rule never to give to one what he could 
not give to the others; the cloth was always measured 
into equal lengths, they all had shoes when one got them; 
if there was only one paper of tea, it was divided equally. 

Naturally there were many adjustments to make. That 
there were some differences and occasionally a few bitter 
words, there can be no doubt. But they learned to bear 
and forebear, to control their tempers and their tongues. 
Mary was patient, and the girls learned in time to adjust 
and to work together. Most of the credit for what success 
they made of this strange way of life must be given to 
Dudley. He believed that a man should be the head of his 
own house, under God. He treated his wives with impar- 
tiality; he was gentle and cheerful; he loved his children. 
Whenever he came into the house, they all ran to him. 
He never sat down that they were not all on his lap. He 
observed family prayer, the group kneeling together every 
morning and evening to ask God's blessing and guidance, 
and to pray for the strength and grace they needed. In 
the evening, he often read aloud while the women sewed 
or knitted or mended. 

Soon he built each wife a house of her own, one large 
log room with a shed at the back. Janet's was a part dug- 
out against the hill, but it was cool in summer and warm 
in winter, and the other wives felt that it was as good an 
establishment as theirs. Each had a fireplace to cook over, 
a bed built into the corner laced with rawhide strips and 
with a good shuck tick. Each had a home-made table and 
several stools of split logs with awkward, out-standing 
legs. Each had her own dishes and bedding. He gave each 
a cow, a pig, and some chickens, and what they made of 
what they had, depended on their own thrift. 

The ideal to which he worked all his life was to keep 
his families together, to have his wives where he could 
see them all every day, and to be close to his children, an 
ideal that became increasingly difficult as the families 
grew. He sensed the responsibility which he had assumed, 
and resolved to carry out his part of it, with the help of God. 



THE LEADERS of the church had watched with 
great interest the progress of the little colonies on 
their southern frontier. With the Civil War on 
back in the states, it was almost impossible to get cotton 
goods; it had always been a problem to secure sugar. If 
it could be demonstrated that these articles could be raised 
in southern Utah, it would be of great benefit. The first 
samples of cotton raised on the Santa Clara and sent to 
Salt Lake City caused a great deal of conjecture, as did 
the cloth samples which they sent the second year. 

In 1857 a company of converts, most of them from 
the South, had been sent to establish Washington, Wash- 
ington County, under the leadership of Robert D. Coving- 
ton, to raise cotton. There were some one hundred and 
sixty people in the company. The next year, 1858, a group 
was sent to establish a cotton farm at the mouth of the 
Tonaquint, or at the junction of the Santa Clara and 
Virgin Rivers. This was under Joseph Home, and is said 
to have been the first agricultural experiment station in 
the United States. That the people were actually experi- 
menting is shown by this extract from a letter from James 
H. Martineau to B. R. Carrington, dated August 22, 1857, 
"While at Harmony, Mrs. E. N. Groves showed us a piece 
of cloth, the warp being cotton grown at the Santa Clara 
and the filling being the bark of a species of milk weed, 
the fibre being long, and almost as strong as silk". 

In May, 1861, President Brigham Young, George A. 
Smith, Daniel H. Wells, John Taylor, Bishop Edward 
Hunter and others visited the southern settlements. They 
reported twenty families in Santa Clara and seventy-nine 



in Washington County. Of the visit, the Deseret News 
said: "At Santa Clara there are several fine young peach 
orchards. It is estimated that 1000 bushels of peaches will 
be produced there this season. Jacob Hamblin has a 
hundred bearing trees. Mr. E. Dodge has a fine young 
orchard and vineyard, consisting of apples, peaches, apri- 
cots, nectarines, plums, pears, quinces, almonds, figs, English 
walnuts, gooseberries, currants and Catawaba, Isabella and 
California grapes, all in a thrifty and promising condition. 
The cotton crop looks very well, but not as forward as 
usual, and crops in general were backward." (Des. News, 

At this time, Dudley and his families were living on 
the present site of Gunlock, where they, too, had thrifty 
orchards and vineyards. Others had told of the great 
fertility of the land, and of its adaptability to the growing 
of fruit and grapes, as well as cotton. Perhaps the report 
of the first Washington County Fair, held in September, 
helped to establish this idea of the southern part of the 
state. The report said: "September 7, 1860, the Wash- 
ington County Agricultural and Manufacturing society held 
its first exhibition at Washington, the county seat. A 
splendid collection of fruits and other products were brought 
in. Among other things a cotton stalk containing 307 bolls 
and form? and a sunflower which measured three feet 
in circumference. The ladies' department also represented 
a very creditable appearance." 

The combined result of all these reports was that 
Brigham Young decided to colonize southern Utah. He 
would establish the city of St. George, with some three 
hundred families. He also decided to send a colony of 
Swiss emigrants to Santa Clara to raise grapes and fruit. 

Among all the enterprises necessary in colonizing the 
state, perhaps none was more heroic than this. These con- 
verts had come across the ocean and to the Missouri River 
through the help of the Perpetual Emigration Fund, There 
they made hand-carts, which they loaded with all their be- 
longings and pulled all the weary fourteen hundred miles 
to the valley. When it was decided to send them another 
three hundred miles south to this last frontier, volunteer 
teams were called to transport them. One man hauled a 
family from Salt Lake City to Provo, another from Provo 


to Nehpi, another from Nephi to Fillmore, and so on, the 
last being from Parowan to Santa Clara. 

An old brother Jones of Cedar City, in speaking of 
this, said, "I was just a boy, sent to drive my father's 
team from. Cedar City to Santa Clara to take a father, 
mother, and four children. I unloaded them in the sand 
underneath an old willow tree. I shall never forget my 
feelings as I turned my team around and drove away. I 
thought I was leaving that family there to starve. They 
had a roll of bedding, a small box of clothes, a chest with 
some carpenter's tools in it — all that they had been able 
to haul across the plains in their handcart. There was 
not a shovel or hoe or ax, or any of the other tools they 
would need. There was little food, and no evidence of 
where they might get more when that was gone. All 
through my life the memory of those people left there 
in that desert has haunted me." 

The group evidently came in good spirits, however, 
for George A. Smith, writing in the Millenial Star said, 
"We met a company of fourteen wagons led by Daniel 
Bonelli, at Kanarra Creek. They excited much curiosity 
through the country by their singing and good cheer. They 
expected to settle at Santa Clara village where there is a 
reservation of land selected for them that is considered 
highly adaptable to grape culture. Six of their wagons 
were furnished by the church." (Mil. Star. 24: 41-42). 

The company arrived November 28, 1861 and camped 
around the adobe meeting house. As soon as their first 
rude shelters were made, they began on their ditch and 
dam. It was completed on December 24, Christmas Eve, 
and was. the occasion for a celebration. It had cost $1030.00 
in labor, with work valued at $2.00 a day. 

The next day the rain began. Old-timers claim that 
it rained for forty days. At least the rainy season did 
last more than a month. Clothes and bedding were wet 
and could not be dried. The dugouts and other shelters 
gave poor protection, even with all the utensils to catch 
the drippings. Food molded. Fires were hard to keep 
going and harder to start if they went out. It was a month 
of misery and suffering for all. 

Then came the flood. For days the creek had been 
rising, until it was swollen to many times its normal size. 

IJ. OP II i i ID 


One night the people were awakened by its roaring — like 
a wild beast unleashed. Every few minutes there would 
be a loud splash as a large piece of bank fell into the 
water. The fort had been built well back on higher ground, 
but now it was plain that it was in danger. Those nearest 
the stream began to move to higher ground. They picked 
their way through the darkness, carrying their quilts to 
the top of the hill and tucking shivering children into 
their damp folds. A few pine torches flitted about; one 
or two had made lanterns of candles stuck into the side 
of tin cans. But the light was a feeble flicker, making the 
darkness outside its tiny circle seem even more dense. 

Those in charge ordered everybody out of the fort. 
But it was not enough just to get out, they must move 
their food and clothing and bedding. A woman who had 
given birth to a baby the day before must be carried 
to safety. Long before they were through, the water was 
nearly waist deep through the fort. They tied a rope from 
the gate to a tree on the higher ground, which was a 
veritable life line for the people so frantically trying to 
carry out their stores of wheat and molasses. By keeping 
a firm hold on the rope, they could be sure where they 
were going and more sure of their footing. The horror of 
it all, the darkness, and the savage stream, made some of 
them wonder if this might be the end of the world. 

When the first faint streak of light along the eastern 
horizon told them morning had come, it brought only 
more clearly their predicament. The mad river was slash- 
ing into the bank, carving out pieces as big as a house. 
Already one corner of the fort was gone. 

Jacob Hamblin ventured too near the edge and the 
piece of ground on which he was standing slipped into the 
water. Such a panic! While the women and children 
screamed and cried, someone untied the rope which had 
been their guide all through the night, made a lasso of it, 
and threw it to him just as the last of the soil on which 
he stood dissolved into the water. With the help of all 
hands on the bank, he was hauled back to safety. 

All day long they watched the fruits of their six years' 
labor go. Tree by tree, their largest orchard went, each 
one bending down slowly as if bowing to the will of the 
river. The men had been frantically trying to move the 


wheat from the store room in the fort. They went until one 
comer and part of the wall had caved in. But with all their 
efforts, much of their bread supply was lost. By nightfall, 
the whole little colony was washed away and the people 
stood shivering and shelterless on top of the hill, their 
few household effects piled in confusion about them. The 
flood was receding, but somewhere away down stream, 
buried in mud, were the grist mill, the molasses mill, and 
the homemade cotton gin. 

Left now to start all over, they decided to locate the 
town up round the point of the hill from where the fort 
had been. They lost no time in marking off lots, the men 
drawing cuts for their locations. Shelters were erected, 
most of them dugouts against the hill with the fronts held 
up by poles and thatched with willows and earth to protect 
them against the cold weather. 

Work on the new ditch and dam commenced at once, 
February 17, 1862. It was finished March 16 at a cost of 
$4000.00. The irrigation reports of 1865 reported that 
Santa Clara had a main canal 3 miles long, five feet wide 
and three feet deep, costing $8000.00. (Des. News 5:30). 
Before the flood the creek could be stepped across in many 
places. After 1862 it was 150 yards wide and 25 feet deep. 
(Mil. Star. 24: 276). 

At the time of this flood Dudley had his families all 
at Gunlock, each in a log house built close together in the 
shape of a fort. When the rain continued and the creek 
began raising, the women cooked up what they could and 
moved a part of their things up the hill. When the heaviest 
flood came in the night they all had to get out. Hannah, 
then only six years old, remembered the incident well, 
and told of this in her later years. Her Uncle Joseph Hunts- 
man carried Dudley, Jr., in his arms and her on his back 
up into the rocks for safety. The mothers and Dudley 
had all they could do to handle the others, for Mary had 
two, Orin and Orson, both very small; Maria had two, 
Orilla and Elsie, Thirza had one and Janet one — eight 
babies under six years of age to move in the night to beds 
in the open. The houses were all washed away, though 
through their foresight, nearly everything else was saved. 

This spring and summer was a hard one for all the 
Santa Clara settlement. St. George did not fare so badly, 


for they had brought provisions to last until another 
harvest. But the Swiss colony were in dire circumstances. 
It was now that Dudley and his brother, Lemuel, had a 
chance to show their true character. Dudley made a trip 
north for a load of flour, which he divided among the 
people according to the need and the size of the family, 
a pan full here, a part of a sack there. Every dust of it 
must be saved. During the summer, he killed several beeves 
and divided them in the same way, giving each family a 
piece of flesh and some boiling meat. He had cattle of his 
own, and he also killed wild cattle from the Bull Valley 
herd. Every part of the animal was used. One old lady 
said that the sweetest meal she had ever eaten was of 
tripe, or part of the stomach lining of one of these. 

Dudley's daughter, Mary Ellen, tells this incident: "I 
was visiting Santa Clara years later as a young woman. 
My cousin and I were going down the sidewalk when we 
met one of these old Swiss ladies. My cousin introduced 
me as the daughter of Dudley Leavitt. The old woman 
threw her arms around me and began to hug and kiss me 
between laughing and crying at the same time. I didn't 
knov/ what to make of it. I wondered if she had lost her 
mind. 'I love anyone who is anything to do with Dudley 
Leavitt', she said. *I love the sound of his name. He saved 
our lives. He brought us flour and meat when we would 
have died without food. He didn't sell them to us. He gave 
them to us; he divided what he had. May the Lord bless 
him.' " 

When Mary Ellen got home she said, "Father, why 
didn't you ever tell us about the early days at Santa Clara 
when you took the settlers food?" 

"It was nothing," Dudley answered. "I couldn't see 
them starve, could I?" 

Dudley not only had his own families to care for, but 
he had other obligations. His mother lived with him much 
of the time. He had children not his own to provide for. 
One was Jerry Steiner, a boy whose mother had died on 
the plains and whose father went on to California. Dudley 
kept the boy in his home until he was old enough to go 
out for himself, when he gave him a team and wagon, and 
let him make his own way. During the years that he lived 
in the Leavitt home, Jerry took a team and a load of pro- 


visions back to meet emigrants on the way. Two different 
times Dudley sent outfits back to Missouri to help bring 
to Utah those with no way to come. 

At one time a woman in St. George had lost her 
husband and was left with a little son, Reuben Wright. 
She had to work and could not care for him, so she went 
to Erastus Snow for advise as to what to do. 

'Take the child to Dudley Leavitt at Gunlock," he 
said after a few minutes study. 

She protested, saying that Dudley Leavitt already had 
a large family, more than he could take care of. 

"My advise is to take the child to Dudley Leavitt," 
Brother Snow insisted. 

She followed his advice. Little Reuben lived in Dudley's 
home for several years, as one of his children, until the 
mother was in a position to take him again herself. 

Years later, Weir and Dudley, Jr., were going to Salt 
Lake with a load of fruit. They camped in a little town 
overnight, and a small girl came out to sell them some 

"Why, we are from Dixie," they told her. "We have 
a load of fruit of our own to sell." 

The little girl went back to the house, and soon the 
mother came out. 

"Did you say you were from Dixie?" she asked. 

When they told her they were, she asked, "Do you 
happen to know Dudley Leavitt?" 

"We ought to," Weir told her, "He is our father." 

Then she said that she was the mother of Reuben 
Wright. The boy was by this time grown and married. 
She, herself, had remarried and had a young family. She 
wanted them to tell their father how she still appreciated 
all that he had done for her in taking care of her boy 
while she could not. 

So it was always with Dudley. He went about doing 
that which was nearest him, without show and without 
hope of reward. "Cast your bread upon the waters," was 
not only a quotation he often used; it was a guide for 
everyday living. 



WITH THE coming of more white settlers to the 
south, the difficulties with the Indians increased. 
The tribes, as a whole, were a miserable, degraded 
lot, without any skills and with little knowledge of the 
storing of food, so that the late winter months were times 
of starvation for them. The more white people that came 
into the country the less game there was, until they must 
resort to petty thieving. They began to resent the white 
settlers and to lose the feeling of reverence they had for 
them in the earliest years. 

One dark stormy night as Dudley was traveling up 
the creek, he was given the order to halt. By a flash of 
lightning he could see that he was surrounded by Indians 
with drawn bows. 

"Wamptun!" he cried. "Wamptun Tunghi!" This was 
his name among the natives, and he wanted them to be 
sure to know who he was. 

He began telling them that he was their friend; he 
reminded them of the times he had given them food and 
had helped them in many ways. It took an eloquent plea 
to turn them from their design, for one of their braves had 
been killed by a white man, and according to their code, 
they must kill a white man to atone for it. At last an old 
chief took Dudley's part, and they finally consented to let 
him go in peace. 

There were now more people at Santa Clara than the 
land would support. Jacob Hamblin had moved to Kanab 
to try to keep peace among the tribes there, and a number 
of the earlier settlers were counseled to move to Clover 
Valley. Edward Bunker was in charge of the group. In 
her later years, Dudley's oldest daughter, Hannah Leavitt 



Terry, wrote an account of conditions which gives some 
very interesting side-lights: 

"In the spring of 1864, father started to move his 
families to Clover Valley. Aunt Maria and Aunt Janet went 
first. Later, he took Aunt Thirza and mother's three oldest 
children, myself, Dudley and Orin. Mother had a web of 
cloth in the loom at Santa Clara and stayed behind to 
finish it. I think a number of families were called to be 
on guard there for treacherous Indians. Brothers Luke 
and Matthew Syphus, Brothers Amos and Bradford Hunt, 
Brothers Brown and Hamilton Crowe and Brother Young 
all had their families there. Also Brother Blair had both 
his families there. 

"Minty Young was a girl about my age, Lavina Syphus 
was a little older, Leath Crowe, Eliza Ellen and Linda Hunt, 
Louisa and Eliza Leavitt, Uncle Jerry's daughters, were 
all girls together and we used to have real good times 
dancing and skating. 

"The houses were built close together in the shape of 
a fort, the school house being partly across one end, and 
the town ditch ran through the center of the fort. The 
first corral was built at the northwest end of the fort, the 
fence at one end of the fields forming one side of the corral. 
Later, a big public corral was built on the south side of the 
fort. We used to take our knitting and go out in the shade of 
the big haystacks. Lavinia Syphus always took more yam 
than the rest of us; she was a faster knitter. We all knit 
our own stockings. 

"The Indians were quite peaceable when we first moved 
there. They would bring dried berries and pinenuts to trade 
for flour and potatoes. I remember the large sacks of 
pinenuts that used to stand behind the door. 

"Once, when the Indians got hungry, they sold Susie 
to father. The Indian put down a blanket and father poured 
wheat on it as long as any would stay on without rolling 
off. I can still see father holding the bucket and pouring 
it on. He also let them have some sheep that were killed 
before they went away. Susie was a little Indian girl about 
five years old. Aunt Janet took care of her. I can still 
see her crying when the Indians went away. Father kept 
her five years and let Brother William Pulsipher have her 
for a span of oxen." 


This extract from the oldest child in the family tells 
many things about their home economy. Though she was 
only twelve years old at the time, she had always assumed 
responsibility and was matured for her years. Besides 
knitting her own stockings, she must help with those of 
the rest of the family, while she seemed never through with 
dish-washing. By this time there were eleven children in 
the family younger than she. Her own mother, Mary, had 
four others, Maria had three, Thirza two and Janet two, 
a total of twelve children under twelve years of age. 

The custom of buying Indian children was quite com- 
mon. Earlier, the Utes had carried on a business of buying 
or stealing them and selling them to the Mexicans for 
slaves. The Mormons opposed this, and through their in- 
fluence had it stopped. But they themselves sometimes 
bought children, always if the parents were forced to sell 
one to get food for the others. The thing that prompted 
this was their belief that the Indians would be redeemed, 
that they would become a white and delightsome people. 
This was one way in which the Mormons could help the 
process of civilizing the natives. The Indian children were 
taken into the family, trained to do home work and farming, 
and taught religion. They were not, in the common sense, 

When the colony first moved to Clover Valley, they 
thought it was in Utah, but later surveys showed it to be 
in Nevada. It was a delightful spot, a small valley running 
east and west, carpeted with grass and watered by several 
fine springs. Surrounding it on all sides were low, rolling 
hills covered with sage brush and cedar trees, an excellent 
range for cattle. By this time, Dudley had a good herd. 

The first year was very happy and successful, the 
winter, mild and open, and the crops good. During the 
next summer, a sickness cam.e among the babies. One 
writer said that it terminated in the death of every baby 
in town under six months of age, twelve in all. Hannah 
Terry's account said that all but three babies died; Thirza's 
baby, Mary Ellen; Aunt Selinda Huntsman's baby, Luna; 
and the Syphus baby, Levi, were spared. 

During the second summer a camp of prospectors had 
begun some mining activities at the lower end of the Meadow 
Valley. Soon they began to have trouble with the natives. 


Instead of using the Mormon methods, they decided to fight 
it out. When some Indians stole their horses, they took 
three of them prisoners. One of them got away. In her 
story of it, Minerva Judd says: 

"I never saw such running before. They shot at him, 
but he darted this way and that and evaded them. He 
went like a kite in the wind. He beat both horse and foot." 
The others tried also to escape, and fought like blood- 
hounds. In the struggle, they were killed. 

That was the way the trouble began, and the spirit of 
unrest and enmity grew. Throughout the southern part of 
the state the Indians seemed to be watching every oppor- 
tunity to harass the settlers. Chief among the trouble- 
makers in the Clover Valley section was Old Bush-head. 
Though the whites gathered their cattle in at night and 
kept a strong watch around the corral, some were missing. 

One night it was Bradford Hunt's turn to stand guard. 
Several times they had found evidence that the natives 
were trying to break into the corral. So Bradford Hunt 
was cautioned to keep a careful lookout for any attempt 
to break through. The night was dark and stormy. As 
Brother Hunt made his rounds, a flash of lightning re- 
vealed the crouched figure of an Indian with his bow 
drawn, sitting in the corner of the fence. The same in- 
stant Bradford fired. They found the Indian next morning 
slumped down where he sat, his bow dropped, and a bullet 
through his heart. Knowing the Indian temperament and 
fearing for his own safety, Bradford Hunt soon moved 

Bushhead continued his thieving. Again and again he 
took cattle; always he was inciting the others to malicious 
attitudes. At one time Dudley led a group of men to the 
head of the Beaver Dam Wash in search of the band. They 
saw the campfire after night, the Indians gathered around 
roasting a beef that they had killed. At the approach of the 
white men the Indians scattered like quail. Dudley called out 
to tell them that it was Wamptun and that he would not hurt 
them. They came back hesitatingly, knowing that he had 
plenty of cause to be angry. They sat around the fire and 
talked things over, and Bushhead promised to do better. 
In the meantime the wives and children at home were 
filled with fear because the pony which Dudley rode, "But- 


termilk Dave", had come back with his reins dangling, and 
they were afraid the rider had been shot by an Indian. 

Again and again Bushhead broke his word until he 
became a menace to the whole section. Finally, Dudley 
came to St. George to ask Apostle Erastus Snow what 
should be done. He was advised to have Bushhead killed, 
but to have the Indians do it. Bushhead had killed some 
miners who were going through the country, which made 
him an outlaw, even among his own people. 

When Dudley came back he called the Indians to- 
gether and told them the decision of the Mormon chief. 
He showed them how to build a scaffold on which to hang 
Bushhead for murder. Then Dudley left the Indians to carry 
out the orders. When the old chief was caught, he called all 
day for Wamptun. If Wamptun were only there, they 
would not kill him, he said. Wamptun would do something 
to save him. But Dudley was gone and did not come back, 
and Bushhead had to pay the penalty. 

The next winter was severe. The Navajoes from across 
the Colorado raided parts of the country. Whitmore and 
Mclntyre were killed at Pipe Springs in January. The 
Berry brothers were murdered near Short Creek, and two 
of Powell's men were ambushed and killed near Mt. Trum- 
bull. The uprising seemed to be so general that President 
Young sent word for those living in scattered communities 
to move together for safety. Apostle Erastus Snow visited 
Clover VaUey on July 12, 1866, and advised the people to 
abandon the place because they were so few and so far 
from help that the Indians might slaughter them all. 

Obedient to counsel, the people hurried their harvests 
and prepared to move before another winter should set in. 
Part of them moved to Panaca (the Indian word for money) , 
and part of them went to Shoal Creek, above where the 
town of Enterprise now stands. Since Shoal Creek had 
so few homes, Dudley decided to send two of his wives, 
Maria and Thirza, to Santa Clara for the winter. Jerry 
Steiner, then quite a large boy, would go along to do the 
chores and outside work, and would go to school. Maria 
and Mary would go to Shoal Creek. It was hard, this di- 
viding the family up, but all understood that it was only 

At this time there were five families living along Shoal 


Creek and two on ranches eight miles apart. They all 
moved together and located at the big willow patch at the 
junction of the stream. Those living there were Zera, John 
and William Pulsipher, Thomas S. Terry and Levi H. Cal- 
loway. Those coming in from Clover Valley were old 
Brother James William Huntsman, his sons, Joseph S., 
and Hyrum R., Dudley Leavitt and his brother, Jeremiah, 
Amos Hunt and his sons, James W., and Jonathan, Zodac 
Parker and Brown B. Crowe. As before, they built their 
houses in a hollow square or fort, leaving room in the en- 
closure for other homes, and several of the young men 
married during the winter. Some of the houses were made 
of logs, some of adobe, and some of rock. They all faced 
in, with no doors or windows opening to the outside. All 
were thatched with grass and willows covered with dirt, a 
good enough shelter unless it rained hard and long, when 
they leaked mud for days. 

The settlers sank a well in the center of the fort, which 
gave plenty of clear, cold water. The first colonists re- 
served the small plot of two or three acres, which they 
had previously used for a garden, but they divided their 
farm land equally, and the men drew lots for it, the oldest 
having the first chance. 

On January 2, 1867, an express from Pine Valley 
brought word that the Indians had taken a band of horses 
from Cyrus Hancock and left him wounded. A scouting 
party, of which Dudley Leavitt was a member, was sent 
out to watch the various passes and to warn the people 
at the Meadows. In a few days William Pulsipher came 
back with the word that he was a member of the posse 
from St. George which pursued the thieves eighty miles, 
surprised and killed all but two of the gang, and brought 
back the stolen stock. 

In the faU of 1867, they built their new school house. 
Orson Huntsman's account gives a good picture of com- 
munity activities. He says: 

"Later in the fall the brethren got pine logs out of 
Little Pine Valley and hewed them and built a meeting 
house 18 by 25 feet, with a big stone fireplace in one end. 
It was built at one end of the fort, covered with lumber 
and dirt, and was ready for use on the first of January, 
1868. This house was used for meetings, schools, and a 


dance hall. And to get wood to warm the building and to 
make work light they chose up sides; there was five men 
to each side to do the chopping and four teams with team- 
sters. They were to work two hours and the side that got 
beat was to furnish supper and a dance for the town. One 
side got nine cords of good cedar wood, the other twelve, 
making 21 cords in all in two hours work. This wood lasted 
two or three years, besides making a good lively time and 
a good dance and supper." 

That winter the rains began in December, and great 
floods came down, washing out deep gullies and making 
the roads impassable. Later, it began to snow, so that the 
people were completely shut in for months. So long as 
they had plenty of fuel and food enough, they got along 
very well. They made their own amusements. One town 
activity was the organization of a "Mutual Benefit Society", 
for the improvement of the speech of old and young, and 
particularly for practice and experience in public speaking. 

The winter storms meant good crops in the spring and 
summer. On July 15, 1868, Erastus Snow, Jos. W. Young, 
Jacob Gates, and others paid them a visit. The whole 
southern section was going to celebrate the 24th of July 
among the tall pines in Pine Valley, so the people of Shoal 
Creek decided to join them. The Staheli band was up from 
Santa Clara, many people from all the towns were there, 
and there was a general celebration which lasted several 
days, enough to make up for the forty long miles they had 
covered to get there. 

About a month later Erastus Snow and James Burgon 
came to survey the little town. Heretofore they had all 
lived in the fort; now they were to form a regular settle- 
ment. Erastus Snow went over the ground and said the 
land was all right, but the water was in the wrong place. 
He advised laying out the town by the water, but the people 
were partial to the level open space, and he acceded to 
their wishes. John Pulsipher suggested that they name the 
place Hebron, the scriptural name of the place where 
Abraham took his flocks. It was accepted without a dis- 
senting vote. 

On Monday, August 31, the survey began. After chop- 
ping their way for three days through the sage, some of it 
above their heads, they finished laying out the town. There 


were three streets running east and west, the center one 
for Main Street, and five running north and south, with 
nine blocks, each containing four lots, and some half blocks. 
They figured a total of forty-seven lots, each with a frontage 
of thirteen rods. The streets were all five rods wide, except 
the main street, which had an extra rod. 

When the survey was completed, the people met again, 
selected a central lot for the church and meeting house, 
and drew for the others. This time, instead of putting 
numbers into a hat and each drawing one, they gave the 
men their choice of lots, the oldest first, and so on, ac- 
cording to age. The record says that "the best of feelings 

People immediately began to move out onto their lots, 
so that before winter set in most of them were on their 
own places, and the old fort site was abandoned. In all the 
town there was but one house with a shingle roof (John 
Pulsipher's), though many secured them later. Dudley 
now had all his family together again, each wife with her 
own small home and large family. During the summer one 
might go to Gunlock to take care of the fruit there, and one 
or two to the Mountain Meadows to look after the dairy there, 
while one remained at Hebron. In this way all the families 
would have dried fruit and butter, (packed into large five- 
gallon crocks), and cheese for winter. The older children 
were sent wherever their work would be most helpful, re- 
gardless of which mother presided at the place. Dudley 
moved among them as he could, directing and helping, but 
the united efforts of all were needed to succeed. From ac- 
counts of the living children, they did seem to manage with 
a minimum of friction. During the winter, they were all 
back at Hebron, living on the same block. 

Toward the end of September of 1868, Dudley and his 
first wife, Mary, went in to Salt Lake with a load of produce, 
and to attend conference. It was her first trip back since 
she had come down as a young wife, fourteen years before. 
They traveled in company with Hyrum Huntsman, Levi 
Calloway and others, and took only their younger children 

This was really an event for them. The city had grown 
and changed so much that they could not get enough of 
looking around at the stores and public buildings. As they 


listened to the instructions of their leaders, they felt the 
importance of the work they were doing in the southern 
settlements to help establish Zion. They started home 
strengthened and renewed. 

They had shopped in Salt Lake City, exchanging their 
fruit and molasses for cloth, shoes, spices, coal oil and 
notions. But they could not begin to supply their needs. 
So on their way aown, they stopped at George Hancock's 
general store and purchased cloth by the bolt, shoes and 
clothing for all the children of all the families on credit. 
The next month they rounded up the cattle necessary to 
pay the debt and had some of the older boys help drive 
them up. 

Upon their arrival home, all the wives were called in 
and the goods divided. This rule, begun early, was never 
deviated from. Dudley always divided what he brought; 
no wife ever touched anything until it was given to her. 
If she could not be present at the division, her share was 
carefully put away for her. 

Hannah Terry tells an incident which shows their 
family economy, though it happened some years later. She 
says: "I will never forget one time in Gunlock, Brother 
Ensign and his wife, Ann, came up from Santa Clara to 
hold a meeting one Saturday and Sunday. I didn't think 
I had a dress good enough, so I hid myself all day in the 
cellar. Father had been away and brought some cloth 
which had been put in the cellar until it could be properly 
distributed. There was one piece of purple calico that took 
my eye. I hadn't been told that I could have it. However, 
while in the cellar I made up my mind that I would cut 
myself out a dress, as I needed one worse than anybody 
else. It was the first dress I had ever tried to make for 
myself, but I got the skirt and waist cut out and basted 
up before mother came home from meeting. She surely 
scolded me. Told me that it should have been Aunt Janet's 
dress and father would be awfully angry with me. 

"Father didn't say anything about it until Sunday 
afternoon after Brother Ensign had gone. Then he called 
me. "Hannah," he said, and I came. "What have you been 
doing?" I told him I had cut me out a dress. He asked 
me what business I had cutting into the cloth. It was for 
Aunt Janet. I told him she couldn't have it now; it was 


too small. I thought I needed it worse than anybody else. 
He talked to me a little while and turned his head so I 
couldn't see him smile, and told me to wait next time until 
I was told I could have it." 

In November, 1868, the town of Hebron was organized 
into a ward. The authorities evidently felt that there was 
no one there who could unite the people, for they called a 
young man, George Crosby, to be the Bishop. He was 
also to teach school. The beardless young man arrived 
late in November and opened the school. In December he 
went back to get his wife, arriving back in Hebron on 
Christmas Eve. That very night their first child, a son, 
was bom. Orson Huntsman comments that "they might 
have named him Santa Claus, but they didn't, they called 
him George". 

New Year's Day was celebrated by a town dinner and 
dance, a climax to a scalp hunt in which the losing side 
furnished the meal. The next day, January 2, 1869, was 
Sunday. The whole town gathered in the little log school 
house for the first real meeting under the new Bishop. 
A pitch-pine fire burned in the large fireplace. The women 
came with their shawls over their heads and their waist 
aprons on. The children were all in home-knit stockings 
and mittens and made-over coats. The Bishop completed 
the organization by selecting Dudley Leavitt as his first 
and Richard Bird his second counselors. John Pulsipher 
was the superintendent of the Sunday School. 

The people were happy, with high hopes of building 
a fine community here. There were enough to make ac- 
tivities interesting and to have a good school; there was 
plenty of good land (if they could only keep water on it). 
At least there would be plenty of labor, if they could only 
have the satisfaction of conquering this desert land. Confi- 
dent and full of hope, they set out to do it. 



THE NEW settlement was soon to have its first ex- 
perience with the Indians. The very week after the 
ward was organized, an express came telling them 
that the Navajos had crossed the Colorado and were making 
raids on the different settlements, driving off cattle and 

John Pulsipher wrote quite a detailed account of their 
experience in his journal. He said: 

"We gathered our horses, kept armed herdsmen with 
them days & an armed guard at the corral with them 
at night. This was a heavy expense on us, few as we are, 
but we kept on hunting and gathering stock as well as 
picket guarding, which we were careful to attend to, so 
that we may not be surprised by any large force. 

"Time proved that we did not gather our stock any 
too soon, for the Indians were spying around every night 
as sly & cunning as foxes. Every morning we could find 
tracks where they had walked or crawled around the corral 
in the darkness of night, but they could not break the fence 
or open the gate, so they must try some stratagem. 

"A. pair of horses were taken from Father Pulsipher 
as they were eating at his stable just at dark before being 
put into the big corral. We then fixed stalls in the big 
corral to feed them and the saddle horses where they 
would be safe. 

"The rascals were very anxious to have our little band 
of horses — 170 head — but they were so well-guarded it 
bothered them. So one day while the horses were out to 
feed, the sly rogues crawled from the hills north among the 



sage brush and chopped several of the pickets nearly off 
at the back side of the corral so they could be easily broken, 
to let the horses out. But this was discovered before dark 
and we prepared for an attack tonight. Moved families 
together and every man armed and made ready. Put a 
stronger guard with the horses and the rest to guard the 
women and children. We did not want to kill any of these 
warriors if we could avoid it, & we did not want them to 
kill us. Being some acquainted with Indian customs, I 
advised the guards at the corral not to leave their places 
& run into the light, even if any building should be fired. 

"Just as I had said that much, a light flashed up. It 
was Orson Huntsman's haystack a little west of us. It made 
a great flame, as it was very dry. It burned down very 
quietly, not a man rushed into the light to be shot, neither 
did we leave our charges for them to take. 

"The Indians, brave as they are, fear to die, & getting 
no advantage of us, abandoned their design that night. 
The next day, Feb. 1, we took our band of horses down the 
valley to Pinto station and herded with them about 10 days. 
We then built a corral and herd house about five miles 
below our town at the edge of the valley, kept our stock 
on our own range & when the wild Indians had left the 
country & spring come, we could let our stock have their 
liberty again." 

The Navajos always made their raids during the winter 
months, crossing the Colorado while the water was low. 
This was the reason they were forced to go back early in 
February before the spring thaws began and the river be- 
came impassable. 

In the spring of 1869, Dudley traded for Orson Hunts- 
man's house, so that he now owned an entire block in 
Hebron with one family on each corner. Here they were 
comfortable during the winter months, though they con- 
tinued to scatter for a time during the summer, one or two 
at the Meadows to make butter and cheese, and the others 
to Gunlock to take care of the fruit. 

This fall (1869) Dudley made another trip to Salt Lake 
City, this time taking two of his wives, Maria and Thirza. 
The records of the Salt Lake Temple show that he had 
them both sealed to him in the Endowment House on 
October 5, 1869. Maria was now the mother of six children, 


the youngest, Sarah Maria, being hardly three months old; 
Thirza had four, her youngest, Lister, being eighteen 

In the meantime the people of Hebron had begun to 
experiment with ways and means to bring water to more 
land. When Erastus Snow first looked their project over, 
he told them they had the town in the wrong place and 
that they should try to take up land nearer the water. 
They preferred to do otherwise, and he did not oppose it 
too vigorously. 

First, they built a ditch along the hill which cost $665 
in labor. The next year they made it higher and longer 
at an additional cost of $1,520 and still later enlarged it 
at a cost of $400. This made the price of water for their 
little town nearly two thousand dollars that year, (1870). 

This year Pioche had opened up as a flourishing mining 
town, so that those who had hay or produce to sell had 
a ready market. They hauled loose hay over the fifty miles 
of dirt road for $27 a ton. 

Early in 1871 the measles broke out, and every family 
in town had them. Though there were no deaths, there 
were many sick children and some eye and ear injuries 
as a result. Then in June, just as their crops were looking 
their best, a horde of grasshoppers came. In swarms that 
darkened the sun, with a sound like a humming engine, they 
settled on the fields. They were traveling from east to west, 
lighting, eating, jumping over each other as they moved 
forward, and leaving the fields behind utterly desolate. 
They spared nothing. To try to fight them would be like 
trying to fight rain or hail. 

They stayed only a few days, long enough to leave the 
crops in ruin, and then moved on. The last of them had 
hardly taken flight before the people were out ploughing 
their fields again. Though the season was late, they hoped 
to get a crop of com matured. 

Early in 1871 the people of Hebron decided to build a 
new adobe meeting house. The old one was too small, and 
was away off over in the old fort. They taxed each man 
according to his holdings, with the total of the first levy 
being $962.32. Of this, Dudley Leavitt's share was $33.60. 
This was about the average, being much less than that of 
some and more than that of others. It would indicate that 


he owned little property other than the block upon which 
his families lived, or that they made some concessions be- 
cause of the number of his children. 

They worked at the house all summer as their farm 
work permitted. In the late fall, everyone joined in the 
labor in order to have it completed for a social on Christmas 
Eve. It was not plastered, but it had a solid floor in and 
a roof overhead, while a large stove in the center, whose 
lengths of pipe twisted about in search of an outlet, gave 
off plenty of heat. Coal-oil lamps set in front of circles 
of tin for reflectors, furnished the light. The people felt 
that they had something fine and up-to-date, and celebrated 
accordingly with a dance and picnic. 

Because of the visit of the grasshoppers the summer 
before, flour was scarce. By May, even their corn-meal was 
getting low, and it was more than a month before harvest. 

A serious shortage was prevented by a call from the 
Authorities at St. George for teams to collect donations for 
the building of the Temple there. The ground had been 
dedicated in November, and all the church was to con- 
tribute to it. Patriarch John C. L. Smith and Charles Pul- 
sipher were to travel through the towns holding meetings 
and taking up donations. The people of Hebron sent three 
four-horse teams and three two-horse teams. The people 
of the north gave what they could, wheat, potatoes, butter, 
cheese, pork, dried beans, cloth — whatever they had. 

When the teamsters returned to St. George with their 
loads, they were paid for their services in Tithing Scrip, 
which they immediately converted into food stuffs. On their 
arrival back at Hebron, they found the whole town out 
of flour. 

By this time the telegraph line was finished through 
Hebron to Pioche and Bullionville. In 1866 it had been 
completed from Logan to St. George, connecting all the 
settlements enroute. Now (1871) with Pioche running full 
blast, and with eleven stamp mills in operation in Bullion- 
ville, it was decided to connect those towns with St. George, 
The people of Hebron were given their quota of poles to 
get out and set, and were given Tithing Scrip for pay. 
Dudley Leavitt and his older boys helped with the project. 

In May, Major Peck, a cattle buyer from Pioche, came 
to town. Every man in town sold him some cattle. Orson 


Huntsman gives an interesting account of the trip across 
the desert with them: "May 27, 1872. Arrived at Mountain 
Springs at 9 a. m. (Note: It was necessary to make night 
drives because of the heat and the desert country). We 
watered 186 head of stock and seven horses with the bucket; 
that is, we dipped water from the spring and carried it two 
rods and filled a trough and paid 18c a head for the water." 
At the end of the trip they received $2247.00, which was 
divided according to the number of cattle each man had 

The year 1872 brought another event of moment to 
the Dudley Leavitt family. Dudley married another wife, 
this time Martha Hughes Pulsipher, the widow of Zera Pul- 
sipher. In some ways, this was a greater trial to Mary than 
his earlier marriages had been. The other four had all been 
girls together; they had sacrificed for each other; they had 
worked together; they had stood by each other in sickness; 
they had grown old before their time, together. Now to 
have their husband pay attention to this lively, twenty- 
seven-year-old widow while they cared for their families, 
was really a trial. The courtship was short. The young 
woman, left with four children, had few resources, and 
had been working out in the various homes to support 
herself. The marriage took place Nov. 30, 1872, in Salt 
Lake City, with Daniel H. Wells officiating. Once it was 
over, she took her place with the other wives, receiving no 
favors, and fitting in the family very well. 

In 1872 there was a heavy flood at Hebron which 
washed out their flume and. the ditch along the hillside. 
People, generally, were very much discouraged, for it would 
mean such a lot of hard work to rebuild it. Dudley still had 
holdings at Gunlock and Mountain Meadows, as well as a 
small place at Santa Clara. Except for the block on which 
they lived, he had little at Hebron, so this year they de- 
cided to sell out and care for their other places. They had 
plenty of fruit and farm land at Gunlock to keep them busy. 

The family record says that nine children were born 
while they lived at Hebron: Frank and George to Mary; 
Sarah, Albert and Hubert to Maria; Lister and Henry to 
Thirza; and Jane and Helaman to Janet. Perhaps Aaron 
should be included in this group, for he was born during 
the summer before they finally moved away. His mother 


was at Gunlock at the time. Hannah, the oldest girl, tells 
the incident thus: 

"I was there a day, and the next day Aaron was bom, 
17 Aug. 1871. Father and I were all the help mother had 
... he hadn't had time to build a house, and Aaron was 
bom in a wagon box. Father handed him to me wrapped 
in mother's skirt, and aunt Emma Huntsman and I washed 
and dressed him out under the cottonwood tree. But I had 
most of it to do as she was just newly married and had no 
experience with babies." 

For an unmarried girl of sixteen, this was quite un- 
usual. It does not take a very vivid imagination to re- 
produce the whole scene, the covered wagon box, the crude 
arrangements under the tree. In spite of it, the baby did 
well, and the mother was soon up and around again. 

The establishment and care of the family was now 
at its heaviest, for there were twenty-five children living, 
(Mary had lost one baby, Maria one, and Janet two), and 
they were all quite young. The oldest girl, Hannah, was 
seventeen, and the boys just younger were large and husky 
and accustomed to work. Even so, much of the responsi- 
bility was left to the mothers, for try as he would to divide 
his time equally among them and to keep in touch with 
them all, it was almost more than one could do. 

The thing that is most remarkable is that he had as 
much influence with them as he did. I have talked to every 
one of the living children, and without exception, it is to 
their father that they seemed to turn for affection and 

"I used to think that if father were only home, nothing 
in the world could harm us," one of them said. "In my 
childish heart, my greatest wish was that we could have 
him with us all the time." 

They all tell of how their father loved them, of how 
kind and considerate he always was, and how full of faith. 
His daughter, Lena, tells this incident: 

'T remember once when I was a little child about eight 
or nine years old, and Weir was eleven or twelve. One of 
mother's babies was real sick. Alma, I think it was. In 
the night father came to my bed and woke me up. He went 
and got Weir up, too. 

" 'Get up children,' he said, 'we have a very sick baby, 


and we need your help. Mother and I must have your sup- 
port and faith and prayers, for we have done all that we 

"We got up and all kneeled around the bed. Father 
prayed and mother prayed; then he asked Weir to pray, 
and I prayed. Then father prayed again. After a little 
while, as he sat watching the baby, he said, 'Now you can 
go to bed. He will be all right'. We did go to bed, and the 
baby slept until morning and got well." 

Hannah tells how he used play with the children, danc- 
ing them on his knee and singing to them, or romping with 
them. On moonlight nights he would get out and play "Run, 
Sheep. Run", and "Steal Sticks" with the older boys. It 
always made the game twice as interesting if father played 
with them. He went to the dances and joined in the fun 

From several of his children come incidents which show 
his treatment of them. His daughter, Lena, tells this one: 

"'When I was a little girl we were traveling up the 
creek when it had a flood in. At one crossing the water 
ran up into the wagon box. I was back under the cover 
and was frightened nearly to death. I screamed and cried 
at the top of my voice. When we got across, he stopped 
the team and got out and took me in his arms. Instead of 
scolding, he was so tender and kind with me. 'Father 
wouldn't let anything hurt his little girl,' he said. 'Why, if 
you fell in, I'd jump right in after you'. And he held me 
close and petted me until I was quiet and happy before 
he started the team again." 

Mary Jane tells a similar experience: "One time when 
I was a little girl, I had a big boil on my arm and father 
was bringing me to St. George to see what to do about it. 
I was sitting on the hay in the wagon and went to sleep. 
When we were crossing the creek in one place, I fell out. 
I was crying at the top of my voice, but he couldn't hear 
me above the jolt of the wagon over the rocky bottom and 
the sound of the water. It wasn't deep; I could have waded 
out easy enough, but he stopped and came back for me, 
wading right into the water. He picked me up and carried 
me out. I would have expected him to stand on the bank 
and call me to come on; I wasn't hurt." 

Betsy teUs this one, which though it happened years 


Taken about 1892 

Left to right: Mary Huntsman Leavitt and her youngest 
son, Dan; Dudley, Maria Huntsman Leavitt and her 
youngest son, Ira. 

Lower left hand corner: Martha Hughes Pulsipher Leavitt. 
Lower right hand corner: Thirza Riding Leavitt. 


later, still shows his way with his family: "I remember when 
we were quite small, but old enough to know better, and 
father and the boys had been m.aking adobes. They had 
them out in long rows in the sun to dry. There were five 
of us little girls within a year or two of each other. We 
began playing around the yard and ended up by walking up 
and down the rows of adobies, stepping into the middle of 
every one. 

"When the older boys saw it, they certainly were angry. 
They scolded and swore and said for us just to wait until 
father came and saw what we had done. We were so fright- 
ened that we all ran and hid. When father came, the boys 
took him out to show him how we had ruined their .work. 

" 'Well, now,' he said laughing, 'I think that is right 
cute. I don't know what I would rather have in the walls 
of my house than all those pretty little foot prints'. 

"When we heard that, we weren't afraid to come out 
of hiding." 

The next few years, while they lived at Gunlock, were 
prosperous ones. The Indians were peaceable, and Dudley 
cultivated their friendship. The first harvest, he invited 
them all in to a feast, barbecued a young beef, roasted a load 
of corn in the husks, and had plenty of melons. The natives 
danced and feasted and celebrated in general for three days. 

They raised all the wheat, corn, beans, squash and 
other vegetables they needed; they had a surplus of mo- 
lasses and dried fruit to sell and their own flock of sheep 
furnished them wool for clothing. Orson Huntsman tells 
an incident which shows something of their set-up. In the 
early winter he came to St. George to buy chickens and 
pigs to peddle in Pioche for Thomas S. Terry. He bought 
twelve little pigs for one dollar each and three hundred 
chickens. It had begun to storm on his way down; before 
he left St. George the snow was eight inches deep. He re- 
ceived the following telegram: 

"Hebron, Dec. 8, 1873 
Snow three feet deep and still snowing. Take load to 
Dudley's and stay storm over. Don't try to come until 
road is open. T. S. Terry." 

Orson Huntsman's diary tells how he went to Gunlock 
and turned the pigs and chickens all loose onto Dudley 
Leavitt. On January 10, more than a month later, he went 


back to get them. That seems evidence that they knew 
Dudley would have a surplus and be able to feed them. 

In 1874 Maria's oldest daughter, Orilla, was in Hebron 
working for Bishop Crosby. She was a beautiful girl of 
fifteen. Early in March she was taken ill, and though they 
did all they could for her, she got no better. They sent 
word to her family. Dudley went on horseback, leaving 
Maria and Mary to come in a wagon with one of the older 
boys. He arrived in time to hold his daughter's hand at her 
passing, but, though they met the wagon with fresh horses 
at the Meadows, the women were too late. 

This death was a blow to all the family, for it was the 
first time an older child had died. During the plague year 
at Clover Valley they had lost three babies, and Janet had 
another die soon after birth. 

Their philosophy that "whatever is, is best", that the 
matter of life and death is in the Hands of God, and our 
finite minds cannot always understand his infinite wisdom, 
made them able to accept it. To them immortality was real 
and unquestioned. If God wanted this lovely girl, why 
should they protest? It was part of their duty to be sub- 
missive to His will. 



IN FEBRUARY of 1874 Dudley brought a part of his 
family to St. George to attend conference, for Brother 
Brigham was to be present. The townspeople had made 
great preparations. They had cleared the sidewalks of 
weeds, swept yards, and cleaned their homes. Every where 
were newly whitewashed walls and fresh straw under rag 
carpets. For weeks ahead, women had been preparing 
their clothes, making new bonnets and knitting stockings. 
Groups of boys went out to clear the road from town to 
the Black Ridge. Old-timers tell that some of the men 
took some twenty or thirty dimes and put them under rocks 
along the way, so that the laboring boys would get some 
little reward. The discovery of a dime would set the whole 
crew working with renewed vigor and accelerate the road 
cleaning greatly. 

On the day of Brigham Young's arrival, crowds thronged 
the streets, eager for a glimpse of their beloved Prophet. 
James Andrus, on a fine horse, rode up and down the wait- 
ing lines. A large banner stretched across the street pro- 
claimed a welcome in foot-high letters. A group of little 
girls in white dresses held arms full of fruit blossoms to 
strew in the way of the carriage. No king ever received a 
more ardent homage. 

When at last the carriage arrived, Brigham Young arose, 
lifted his hat, and bowed to the right and left at the as- 
sembled people. One young woman who had been standing 
in line all forenoon said, "Is that all he is going to do? It 
looks like he might at least have stopped the carriage and 
spoke to us." An elderly lady near-by overheard the re- 
mark. "My child," she said in a reproving tone, "don't you 



know that you have seen the Prophet of the Living God?" 

This was Dudley's attitude. In his eyes, Brigham Young 
could not err. Whatever Brother Brigham advised, Dudley 
was glad to try to do. That is why, at the meeting in the 
Tabernacle the next day, he did not doubt the wisdom of 
the counsel given. He knew that, for him, it would be more 
satisfying to follow it. 

President Young left no question in the minds of his 
listeners as to what he wanted done. They should stay 
and build up the waste places of Zion and strengthen the 
Kingdom of God instead of racing off to mining camps be- 
cause there were higher wages there. They should stay 
on their farms and sell their produce to those who wished 
to work in the mines; they should not desert their land, 
nor should they waste their time prospecting. 

"Turn your attention to the building of the Kingdom 
of God," he told them, "that is your mission." Then he 
called for a showing of the hands of those who were willing 
to abide by his counsel. 

Dudley raised his hand in the pledge. And he kept it. 
Many years later he thought he found what he called, "The 
Lost Lead," a rich vein of ore, which has since become leg- 
endary. He said the eyes of his vision were opened and he 
saw this vein of ore running perpendicular through the 
mountain containing wealth untold. It was somewhere in 
the Bull Valley district. Though he thought he had marked 
the place, and though the samples of ore which he took 
from it assayed a high percentage of gold, he never again 
could find it. 

In his later years he used to say: "God is saving the 
wealth of those mountains until the day His people will need 
it. Then it will be discovered and its riches used to build 
up Zion." 

For the time being, he returned to his place on the 
creek, satisfied that he was fulfilling his part in the Great 

At Gunlock, the families continued to live well so far 
as food was concerned, though they did not have a great 
deal of money. They raised all they needed and they 
learned how to preserve it. They made peach preserves by 
the barrel, washing the fuzz from the clingstones and drop- 
ping them into the molasses when it was about half done. 


The fruit and syrup were cooked together to make an ex- 
cellent preserve. They dried corn, peas and beans, and even 
large circles of pumpkins. 

The families got along. One of his daughters, Mary 
Jane, said, "Father never quarreled with his wives. I have 
heard them at different times get angry and scold him, 
but he usually ignored it. He would take one of the babies 
on his knee and bounce it and sing an Indian song, or he 
would joke with her. If he could not win her over, he 
would walk out. My sympathies were always with father, 
as I believe all the other children's were. When my own 
mother got to scolding him, I used to think that if I were 
in his place, I'd . . . well, I'd kick her a mile!" 

"Nobody ran father's business, and nobody ran father," 
another said. "He had five wives, and they would all have 
liked to manage him, but they couldn't. He treated them 
all the same. None of them had any right to be jealous. 
I never did hear the wives have any fuss. And I never 
heard father quarrel with his wives, any of them." 

And so their comments go. Jeremy, speaking of the 
home relations, always said, "The only difference that I 
could see was that I had three mothers instead of one. I 
was never at Martha's or Janet's much, but at Aunt Mary's 
and Aunt Thirza's I was as much at home as in my own 
mother's house. One time I was sick at Aunt Mary's and 
no child ever got more tender care than I did." 

The thing that they all speak of most often was his 
great faith and his power over sickness. Medora tells how, 
as she was going to the creek one day for water she heard 
her father's voice as though he were talking to some other 
man. Looking through the willows, she saw him on his 
knees talking to God in a simple, straightforward manner, 
asking His protection and blessing on a son that he felt was 
in danger. It was his implicit trust in God that impressed 
itself most upon them all. 

While at Gunlock the saddest accident in the history 
of the family happened. Little George, eight-year-old son 
of Mary, was walking across a log over the stream just 
above the water wheel which ran the mill. He missed his 
footing, fell into the water and was carried into the wheel. 
There was no way to get him out, and no way to stop 
the wheel but to turn the water out of the ditch above. In 


the meantime, he was crushed and mangled and many of 
his bones broken. His father got him out, carried him to 
the house, and laid him on the bed. Then kneeling beside 
him, Dudley placed his hands on the child's head and dedi- 
cated him to the Lord, asking God to take him peacefully 
and not to permit him to suffer more. In less than hour the 
child was dead. 

During the years at Gunlock from their return there 
in 1872, the family had little trouble with the Indians. One 
winter as the band passed, they left an old squaw to die. 
It was their custom to just go on and leave the old and 
blind to follow as they could. This old woman was nearly 
two days behind the band, and without any chance of catch- 
ing up with them. Dudley fixed her a good solid wigwam 
of willows, covered it with bark, and banked it up around 
the bottom. Mary Ellen says: "The boys chopped her wood 
and we carried food to her. We never thought of eating 
a meal until we had taken the old squaw hers. We kept 
her all winter and when spring came, and it got warm, 
the tribe came back and took her with them." 

There was one Indian in the neighborhood of whom 
they were afraid. This was Old Watermann. He delighted 
to frighten the children, and would sometimes take the 
lunches from the little boys when they were out herding 
the cows. If the children saw him when they were away 
from home, they would run up into the rocks or willows 
to hide. 

Watermann had a dog of which he was very fond. 
The coyotes had become such a menace to Dudley's chickens 
that he decided to put out some poisoned meat. He went 
to Watermann and told him what he was doing. 

"You keep your dog tied up at night, and I will take 
the meat away in the morning. Then the dog will not get 
it," Dudley said. 

Watermann did not heed the warning, and his dog 
died. In a rage he came to Dudley. He found him working 
at his forge shaping some iron. The Indian stepped to the 
door, his bow drawn, the arrow aimed at Dudley's heart. 

"See, Wamptun, how quick I could send you to the 
Happy Hunting Ground," he said, threateningly. 

Like a flash, Dudley leaped at him, grasped him by 
the throat, and thrust the red hot iron near his face. 


"You see, Watermann, how quick I could send you to 
the Happy Hunting Ground," he answered. 

When the Indian found that Dudley was not to be 
frightened, he listened to reason. Dudley reminded him of 
the flour and meat he had given him, and insisted that he 
wanted to be friendly. That was why he had warned him 
about tieing up the dog. Waterman left, but was still sulky. 

Not long after this, Dudley had gone to Santa Clara. 
Three of the boys, Dudley, Jr., Weir and their cousin, Ed, 
were camping at the lower field under a big cottonwood 
tree. They were in bed, when they saw Watermann ap- 
proaching with a hatchet upraised in his hand. With yells 
of fear, they clamored out of bed and started to run wildly 
down the creek. They were boys twelve and fourteen years 
old, and their first thought was to get to their father. It 
was nearly daylight before they arrived at where he was 
staying with his brother, Lemuel. They had come twelve 
miles. When Dudley heard their story, he got on a horse 
and went back to Gunlock. He got Watermann by the nap 
of the neck and kicked him soundly. 

"If you ever touch one of my children, I'll beat your 
brains out," he threatened. 

In telling of it, Watermann said, rubbing his rear dubi- 
ously, "Wamptun Tunghi, he kick-a-my a . . ", an ex- 
pression which became a by-word among the people. 

Soon after this incident, Dudley called all the Indians 
together at his home. Standing on a log, he preached to 
them in their native tongue. 

"I have always been your friend," he said. "I have 
given you much flour and meat. You steal from me; you 
frighten my children. If you keep on this way, I will send 
a letter to the Big Father and tell him, and he will kill 
you all. He will send sickness like the big plague you had 
a long time ago, and wipe you all out." 

Thoroughly frightened, the Indians promised to do 
better and to be "To-wich-a-weino Tickaboo". Then Dudley, 
to show his good faith, fed them on barbecued beef and 
gave them some corn and squash to take home with them. 

Early in 1877 a group decided to move further down 
onto the Virgin River, and set up a community where they 
could live the United Order. Edward Bunker was in charge 
of the enterprise, and Dudley's brother, Lemuel, was going 


with him. Dudley decided to go too, but he could not take 
all his family at once. His older boys were now grown 
young men, ready to make homes of their own, and he was 
anxious to help them get established where there was more 
land. In Februai-y 1877 he sold one Gunlock field to Orson 
Huntsman for $400.00 to be paid in cattle. 

At this time the Silver Reef near Leeds was opened 
up and beginning to do a thriving business. Its' population 
was fifteen hundred people, and a daily stage ran over a 
newly constructed road from Silver Reef to Pioche. It 
was a regular stage coach drawn by four horses, and was 
typical of the western boom country. Dudley and his 
many boys might have made good money at the mines, 
but he was mindful of the pledge he had made to stay on 
the land. He wanted to establish his sons on the land also. 

Accordingly, when the first group went to settle Bunk- 
erviUe in January 1877, some of his older boys went with 
it. Dudley, himself, did not go for nearly a year. Orson 
Huntsman's dairy has the following entries which give some 
light on his activities: 

"April 28, 1877 I went to St. George in company with 
Dudley Leavitt. Arrived about noon, went to the public 
square where the men were drilling, trying to make soldiers 
out of themselves." 

"Sunday, June 3, 1877 Pres. J. T. D. McAllister of St. 
George, Bishop Ensign and Samuel Knight of Santa Clara 
Ward held meeting with us and organized Gunlock as a 
branch of the Santa Clara Ward, with Dudley Leavitt as 
presiding High Priest" . 

July 4, 1877 We celebrated Independence Day by a public 
dinner at the house of my sister Mary (Dudley Leavitt's 
first wife), or a bowery in front of her house where we 
had been holding our Sunday services." 

In January of the next year, 1878, Dudley sold the 
rest of his Gunlock field to Orson Huntsman, though he 
retained ownership of his houses and lots, and some of his 
wives stayed there a short time. 

Because Bunkerville was the place where so many 
of his older children made their home, it may be interesting 
to have some detail of the activities of the first settlers. 


Most of Dudley's sons and daughters began their married 
life there; some have remained through all the years. 

Of the establishment of this community, James G. 
Bleak's record, Book D, page 136 says: 

"A few persons including Edward Bunker and family, 
Lemuel S. Leavitt and family, and Edward Bunker, Jr., and 
family, and others being desirous to enter once more into 
the united order, held a meeting at Santa Clara on the 
first of January 1877 and organized themselves into a 
company for that purpose, with Edward Bunker, Sr., as 
president and Lemuel S. and Dudley Leavitt as counselors, 
Mahonri Steele as secretary, and Edward Bunker, Jr., as 
treasurer. Their company numbered in all 23 persons. On 
the 2nd of January they started for the Mesquite Flat on 
the Rio Virgin River and were joined by Lemuel Leavitt 
and daughter, also by Samuel O. Crosby. The company 
had 6 wagons and 70 head of cattle. They arrived at Mes- 
quite on January 5. On further examination, they decided 
to locate on the south side of the river instead of the 
Mesquite side. On the 6th day they crossed the river and 
pitched camp at a point about 2i/i> miles northeast of where 
the town of Bunkerville now stands. They started work 
at once, and on the very day of their arrival put up a small 
lumber building on top of the hill and called their location 
Bunkerville, after Edward Bunker, Sr., the leader of the 

"On the 7th which was Sunday, the first meeting was 
held at Bunkerville, then consisting of one house and six 
wagons . . . 

"On Monday, Jan. 8, the brethren commenced work 
on a canal to convey the water from the Rio Virgin to the 
flat which they had selected as farm land on the south 
side of the river. They vigorously prosecuted this work dur- 
ing the week. 

"On Sunday 14 of Jan. the second meeting was held, 
on which occasion the Sunday School was organized, with 
Elder Samuel O. Crosby as superintendent. . . . There 
were present eighteen members in all." 

Mrs. Ella Abbott Leavitt, who came as a girl to Bunk- 
erville in its first year and later married Thomas Leavitt, 
son of Lemuel, makes some interesting comments. She says: 


"The place was called Mesquite until in June 1879 when 
we got a mail line and a Post Office, and then it was named 
Bunkerville. Calista Bunker and Deborah Leavitt, both 
girls, came with the very first company, and the hill where 
they built the first shack was called 'Calista's Lookout'." 

That they really accomplished a great deal the first 
season is shown by this report of a sermon delivered in 
conference in St. George by Bishop Edward Bunker, Sr. 

"On January 22 they finished their irrigation ditch, 
a mile and a half long and four feet wide, costing 108 day's 
labor. This ditch was afterwards increased to 2yo miles 
in length. They set to work and cleared 75 acres of land. 
Had harvested 22 acres of wheat, 14 acres of cotton, 7 
acres of sugar cane was in a healthy condition, and the 
balance of the land was in corn." 

Before fall, Dudley had moved some of his family 
down to Bunkerville. He put everything he had into the 
United Order — the cattle he received for his land at Gun- 
lock as well as those he had before, horses, wagons, and 
all. He had his son. Weir, haul the big water wheel down 
from Gunlock and install it about IY2 miles above the 
present townsite on the fall that is still known as the "gin 
ditch". He had purchased a burr flour mill from Dee 
Thompson at Cedar City. (Dee Thompson was Lemuel's 
brother-in-law). He also installed a cotton gin here, run 
by the water wheel. 

At first the people lived the United Order very liter- 
ally, eating at the same table and sharing all things in 
common. They had one big dining room and kitchen, with 
individual bedrooms. It was customary for all to gather for 
morning and evening prayer, and for frequent council 

The men and boys old enough to work in the field 
or on the ditch were always served first, the women and 
younger children eating later. The women divided their 
work, taking week about, some cooking, others washing 
the dishes, others caring for the milk and butter, while 
still another group was responsible for the clothing, in- 
cluding washing, ironing, and mending. Their tasks rotated 
in regular order. 

The first harvest was a great relief to the settlers, as 


they were forced to haul all their provisions so far. They 
cut the first grain with a cradle, threshed it by driving 
cattle over it on a hard clay floor, and winnowed it in the 
v/ind. Since James G. Bleak reports "New Year's Day 1879 
the burr mill at Bunkerville did its first grinding. Turned 
out a fairly good grade of flour", we may be sure Dudley 
was there and established before that time. 

In speaking of this burr mill, one of his older daughters, 
Sarah, said: "I remember the old burr mill. My daughter, 
Mina, still has the stone at Las Vegas. How often mother 
and I have had to clean it after it was used to grind rock 
salt before we could use it to grind flour. We always had 
to clean and wash the wheat and pick out the smutty 
kernels so the flour wouldn't be so black." 

The summer had been a sore trial to the settlers. In 
January, their location on the top of a barren hill would 
be pleasant, but by June it would be like an oven. The 
scrub vegetation around it would hardly shelter the lizards 
that darted from one little bush to another to avoid the 
burning rocks. Added to the heat, was the bad water — 
alkaline, muddy and hard. They called it "Virgin Bloat", 
and told jokes about how it was so thick they had to bite 
it off in chunks. Worst of all was the malaria which the 
swarms of mosquitoes from the river bottoms carried. The 
dairy of Myron Abbott tells of nine down at one time with 
chills and fever, of others suffering with boils, and of fre- 
quent calls to go administer to the sick. 

James G. Bleak gives two slightly varying reports of 
that first harvest. On page 136 of Book D, he says: 

"The season of 1877 the Bunkerville company of the United 
Order produced 400 bushels of wheat, 700 gallons of mo- 
lasses, 9,040 pounds of cotton lint, as well as corn, squash 
and other vegetables." 

Book C page 206 says: "Bishop Edward Bunker addressed 
the saints in the tabernacle. He reports the results of work- 
ing the United Order in Bunkerville, Nevada, being satis- 
factory. In 1877 the first year, they produced 450 bushels 
of wheat, 12,000 pounds of cotton on the seed, and 600 
gallons of molasses." 

Since the first company arrived in Bunkerville in Jan- 
uary and consisted almost entirely of grown-ups, no school 


was held that year. By the next fall, so many families had 
arrived that a school was held for four months in the shanty 
on the hill. Charlie Hoath was the teacher. Dudley had 
his families at the gin and mill site, a mile below, so that 
his children had quite a distance to walk. The only equip- 
ment was rough, backless benches of split cottonwood logs, 
a bit of a blackboard, and a long table. The teacher had a 
spelling book, arithmetic book, and two or three readers, 
most of them beginners' books. That same year, Myron 
Abbott taught a night school for the men and boys who 
were old enough to work. 

The community was organized into a ward just a year 
after their arrival, January 12, 1879, with Edward Bunker, 
bishop, Edward Bunker, Jr., as first and Myron Abbott as 
second counselors. George Lee was ward clerk. 

Since the population had grown and the work had 
been scattered, it was not practical for them to live longer 
with a common dining hall. Each family lived by itself, 
and each man was made a steward over a certain part of 
the property. All crops were placed in a common store- 
house, and all families received what they needed. For ex- 
ample. Brother Freeman was in charge of the vegetable 
garden. He raised all the vegetables that were needed by 
the entire community and gave them out to the people as 
they came for them. 

The second summer James G. Bleak reports: "In 1879 
they produced 1600 bushels of wheat, 30,000 pounds of 
cotton on the seed and from 1500 to 1600 gallons of mo- 
lasses. This year a thresher was brought in, being hauled by 
team all the way from California, a three-weeks' trip. Joseph 
Hammond of St. George arrived Nov. 24, 1878, with 
thresher, after threshing wheat and barley at Bunkerville. 
This month the first house was erected on the Bunkerville 

The life in the United Order, begun with such high 
hopes and noble ideals, soon began to be unsatisfactory. The 
way of having only what his neighbor had, of sharing 
everything, and holding all property in common would not 
satisfy many of the members. James G. Bleak, Book C, 
page 296 says: 

"This month, Oct. 1880, it became manifested in the 
Bunkerville Ward, where the workers in the united order 


have been working as stewards, that some stewardships, 
through their economy and industry were gathering and 
laying in an abundance while others through carelessness 
and bad management were wasting the means of the com- 
pany, each year increasing in debt. This was very unsatis- 
factory to those whose ambition was to accumulate at least 
the necessities of life. The result was that a general meeting 
was held at which it was decided that each stewardship 
should have the right to draw 80% of the proceeds of their 
labor, the 20% to be retained in the treasury as a fund 
to keep the capital stock good. This proved acceptable to 
some, and they gave notice of withdrawal. This caused a 
settlement to be made of the whole business. Dissatis- 
faction increased and it was decided to disorganize the 
Bunkorville United Order. The company paid off the capital 
stock and 17% of the labor performed." 

Page 231, Book C under the date of August 5, 1880 
he says: 

"The settlers at Bunkerville on the Rio Virgin, having 
worked in the United Order upwards of 21/2 years, have 
this date commenced to divide its property for distribution. 
In settling up, the company paid all the capital stock in- 
vested and 18% interest on all labor performed from the 
first of January to date." 

This business of settlement was very complicated, and 
required a long time. We get suggestions of it from the 
dairy of Myron Abbott, but the records seem to have been 
destroyed. Through the years comes the suggestion that 
Dudley was not pleased with what he got out of it, for his 
cattle were divided among others, and he came out of the 
experiment poorer than he went in. Whether it was dis- 
satisfaction with the order of things in Bunkerville, or 
whether he wanted more land, perhaps we shall never know, 
but upon the settlement and the breaking up of the order, 
he moved across the river to the site of the present town 
of Mesquite, and set up his families there. 



At MESQUITE, Dudley again established all his wives. 
r\ Mary had a rock house (which is still standing), 
Maria was a block east, with Janet just beyond, 
Martha lived south of Mary, and Thirza west, down near 
the Big Wash. There was plenty of good land, part of it 
cleared by the group that had deserted this site two years 
before, because of the heat and bad water. There must 
have been a family or two on the site at the time, although 
we have not found who. There is a report that Brother 
Peck, the school teacher, said that he had twenty- two stu- 
dents enrolled in his school, of whom twenty belonged to 
Dudley Leavitt. 

This seemed incredible, but the children say that it 
was true, though the boys could not be counted as being in 
all the time, for they had to take turns herding the cows 
in the sandhills or on the river bottoms. From the ones 
still living come stories of tricks they played on Brother 
Peck. At one time he had a large watermelon growing in 
his yard. It was his pride and joy. He watched it and 
tended it carefully. One day in school he made the mistake 
of telling the boys that he was going to make sure none 
of them got it, so he measured their shoes. That was a 
challenge they could not let pass unheeded. Slipping out 
of bed that night, three of them set out for the watermelon. 
Taking their sister's shoes in their hands, they went down 
the dry irrigation ditch to the fence, then putting on the 
shoes, one went in, got the melon and returned to the 
ditch. They followed it up some distance, then turned the 



water down to cover their tracks. After all these years 
they still chuckle at the discomforture of the old man as 
he came for their father. Together they visited every one 
of the five homes to see who was guilty. It was the girl's 
shoes, all right, that had made the tracks, but the mothers 
insisted that the girls did not leave the house, and were 
in bed early. We cannot help wondering if Dudley did not 
have a fair idea of who the criminals were, even with the 
lack of evidence. 

For four years the family lived here, and were an inde- 
pendent, self-supporting unit. They raised everything they 
ate; they had molasses and honey, they hauled rock salt 
from St. Thomas, they had their grains, fruits and veg- 
etables. They always had milk, though there were times 
when there was no butter. They kept pigs and sheep, so 
they could have meat on occasion. By hard work and ju- 
dicious use of all his "boy-power" Dudley was again able 
to expand his holdings and improve them. Every morning 
the boys would gather at Mary's, as it was most central; 
often they would eat breakfast there, and then they would 
go with their father to whatever task he had set out. 

Then came one of the disastrous floods for which the 
Virgin river has always been notorious. Their ditch was 
completely ruined. As he walked up along it and saw 
what a lot of labor would be required to rebuild it, Dudley 
debated as to what to do. He had good fields. There was 
plenty of land cleared and fenced, but valueless without 
water. But how to get the water? He could see no way 
but to move again. 

It was a major decision to make, but he decided that 
he would have to scatter his families. All these years he 
had struggled against odds to hold them together, to keep 
them where he could be in daily contact with them all. 
Now he must change the procedure. 

Four years earlier, while they were still in Bunkerville, 
in 1878, he had taken a contract to run the mail. Wooley, 
Lund & Judd had contracted with the government for car- 
rying the mail in all the southern district. At first Edward 
Bunker, Jr., and Dudley Leavitt were in together, Dudley 
carrying it from St. George, Utah, to St. Thomas, Nevada, 
and Brother Bunker talking it from St. Thomas to Kingman, 
Arizona. Now Dudley made a separate contract with 


Wooley, Lund & Judd. For more than twenty years this 
was an occupation which he followed, and which meant a 
sure source of revenue, though a small one. 

The following contract, one of the latest, will show 
something of the prices and conditions under which it was 
run. It is handwritten in ink on paper bearing the Wooley, 
Lund & Judd, General Merchandise, stamp. 

Established 1875 

General Branch House 

Merchandise Silver Reef, Utah 


St. George, Utah, May 11, 1898 
Robert C. Lund 

I hereby offer and agree to carry the U. S. Mail on 
Route 75177, St. George, Utah, to St. Thomas, Nevada, ac- 
cording to the advertised schedule three (3) times per 
week for the sum of thirteen hundred & seventy five 
(1375.00) per annum — subject to any change of schedule 
or increase or decrease of number of trips as may be 
ordered by the P. O. Dept., with corresponding increase or 
decrease of pay — from July 1st, 1898, to June 30, 1902, 
said $1375.00 to be paid as follows 66 2/3% to be drawn 
from time to time in mdse from the store in St. George 
at same prices as other cash accounts and charged for 
mdse by said store. 

33 1/3% to be paid in cash quarterly when payments 
are made by the P. O. Dept. for the service. 

Provided that if more than the 66 2/3% is drawn in 
mdse during any quarter, during the life of this contract, 
that said excess above the 66 2/3% shall be deducted and 
paid from said cash payment of 33 1/3%. 

Dudley Leavitt. 
The foregoing is hereby accepted and made a contract 

Robert C. Lund. 

It does not take much figuring to see that these trips 
would net something less than nine dollars each. When 
one considers the distance, some one hundred and eighty 
miles for the round trip, the number of horses needed and 
the expense of maintaining them, it seems strange that 
Dudley could have made anything at all. 


During all the first years the mail was run by pony. 
A boy would leave St. George about midnight, change 
horses at Littlefield, or Leavittville, just below, and meet 
another boy who had started from St. Thomas, at Bunker- 
ville. All the younger boys had their turn at this work; 
some of them stayed with it for months and years at a 

This made it necessary for Dudley to place his families 
at different points. Thirza was established at St. George, 
where she lived during most of the twenty years while they 
ran the maU. 

Martha was stationed at Bunkerville, while Mary lived 
at Tunnel Point and later with Maria and Janet at Leavitt- 

All the boys who had experience running the mail, tell 
of the long rides, leaving in the night, with mail sack 
strapped behind the saddle and a sandwich tied on the side, 
of falling asleep to the monotonous jogging of the horse, 
sometimes getting off and nmning a mile or two down the 
slope to get warm and to keep awake. Later Dudley, as 
he grew older and heavier, had a two-wheeled cart made 
for him to carry mail on. It was drawn by only one horse, 
and was so light that the animal could trot most of the way. 

His son, Jeremy, tells these incidents of the mail carry- 
ing days: "All the time father had the mail, neither the 
government nor the state nor the counties ever put one 
cent on the roads, if roads they could be called. I never 
went with him, and I went many times, when he did not 
stop and work road, taking out rock, cutting the higher 
sides and building up the lower. He never camped all night. 
He always planned to stop in the roughest places, bate 
the horses, as he called it, while we made road, maybe 
sleep an hour, and then up and digging again. I am sure 
he saved many a heavy loaded salt wagon from breaking 
down or getting stuck". 

"When we lived at the Hancock ranch just west of 
Littlefield, it was along the last of father's mail contracting. 
He was getting badly crippled up and seldom went with 
the mail, unless some one went with him. It was all night 
riding. One cold winter night he decided to go with the 
mail alone. He just wouldn't be talked out of it. 

"This night he had Doll, a fine sorrel animal, high- 


lifed and very skittish, and a two- wheeled cart made es- 
pecially for the business. He was bundled up with clothing 
and a large overcoat, a napkin on his head — he looked 
like Santa Claus. 

"About two o'clock in the morning he was going down 
the Clara Creek. The road followed the bottom of the 
canyon down to the Three Mile Place, crossing the stream 
every little ways. While crossing the stream, Doll tried to 
get her head down to drink and pulled the bridle off one 
ear. He didn't notice it for a while. When he did, he stopped 
and got out to fix it. As he came around in front, it scared 

"Like a shot out of a gun she whirled, lifting the cart 
right into the air, and was out of sight in a few seconds. 
Tlie way the cart bounced when it hit the boulders, he was 
sure it would go to pieces. She was soon out of hearing. 

"He said the only prayer he ever offered without faith 
was then. In a few words, he asked the Lord to stop the 
horse. As best he could he went back to the road and 
started walking down it. He hadn't gone far when he met 
Doll coming back, cart right side up. She came right v^ 
to him and stopped. He never knew how or why or by 
whom she was turned around, but he always thought it 
was some super-natural power. And he did not forget to 
express his thanks to God for it." 

During these years, the fight on the polygamists began. 
The government, determined to stamp out the practice, 
began a campaign of prosecution that amounted to persecu- 
tion. During the years from 1875 to 1888, 589 men were 
imprisoned for this practice, and fines amounting to $48,208 
were collected. During the whole period of prosecution 1300 
men served sentences in the state penitentiary. 

Southern Utah was the center of many polygamist 
families. Many of them moved their wives to different 
towns; some, rather than divide up their families, took them 
and went to Mexico to escape imprisonment. 

Dudley was proud of his wives. He loved his children. 
Not for anything would he have renounced one of them. 
But he did not want to be locked up, either, and sometimes 
he was hard-pressed. 

The people had various ways of avoiding the officers. 
Every stranger was regarded with suspicion; children were 


taught that they must not talk to strangers nor answer 
questions. At Silver Reef, two young Mormon boys ran the 
telegraph office. People from the north always stopped 
there to rest and feed their teams. As soon as the U. S. 
marshals, McGeary and Armstrong, came to the Reef, one 
of these boys would send the message, "Send up two chairs", 
to the one at the store in St. George. This was the code 
which meant that the officers were on their way. Instantly, 
word went out to every polygamist in town, enabling him 
to arrange his affairs and go into hiding while the officers 
drove the twenty-two miles from the Reef. 

Even so, some were caught. Invariably they were given 
a town party when they left to serve their six-months' 
sentence, and the band met them at the Black Ridge when 
they returned. 

At one time, Dudley came in to St. George with a 
load of wood for Thirza, arriving after dark. The marshals 
were in town that night, so his family was very concerned 
for his safety. Thirza was so nervous she couldn't sleep, 
for she knew the habit the officers had of raiding homes 
in the middle of the night. She knew they were especially 
anxious to get Dudley, because he not only broke the law, 
but was proud of it and had made statements to the effect 
that no power on earth would make him desert his family. 
Before daybreak the family were up, had the wood un- 
loaded, and were prepared for Dudley to leave town. They 
rolled him up in the bedding, and some of the children 
sat on him as one of the boys drove through town. Once 
past the Black Hill, the children walked back, and Dudley 
drove on. 

"One day I went with father to the cotton factory at 
Washington," said Mary Jane. "An Iverson girl was the 
clerk. We had just got our cotton unloaded, when the black- 
topped buggy that carried McGeary and Armstrong drove 
up. The girl was in a panic. 

" 'Run,' she said. 'Run, Brother Leavitt. Here come 
the officers. They will get you sure. Quick! Hide!' 

"Father knew it was useless to run, so he snatched up 
and old coat, pulled a slouch hat down over his eyes, picked 
up an oil can, and started to oil the machinery. He was 
the busiest man you ever saw climbing up the ladder to 
get at some parts, and going about it as if he were an expert. 


"The officers came in, went through the whole place, 
kicking at trap doors, going through cotton bins, turning 
over boxes, and trying to find concealed hide-outs. Father 
went about his work, apparently paying no attention. At 
last they got into their buggy and rode away." 

Clarence tells how once when the officers were in town, 
he went to Wooley, Lund & Judd's store for some supplies. 
His father was lying flat in the bottom of the wagon box 
with some quilts over him. As they drove up to the store, 
there stood the marshals just outside, watching the streets 
and keeping their eyes open for members of polygamist 
families. Clarence went in, got his order of groceries, threw 
them into the wagon box, and drove away. His father 
often said that he wondered why they didn't search wagons 
as well as they did houses. 

At still another time, Dudley was at the shop where 
Hardy's had their water wheel and turning lathe. He was 
seated on the curb with some other men, his back to the 
road, when one said, "You'd better get going, Dud, here 
they come". Out of the corner of his eye, Dudley saw the 
carriage coming down the street. He knew that to run 
would be disastrous; it would be sure to attract attention. 
So he sat perfectly still, and did not turn around to give 
the passing outfit even a look. 

His companions kept telling him in undertones that 
the officers were watching him, that they were trying to look 
through from back to front, and that they had his number. 
But they were not certain enough of themselves to stop. As 
soon as they rounded a curve, Dudley obeyed his impulse to 
leave. He went into hiding in a tamarack thicket behind 
the house. Sure enough, the carriage turned around and 
the officers came back. This time they stopped, but the 
only man they wanted was gone, and none of the others 
had any idea where he was. 

Once at Mesquite the church authorities came to call, 
and since Dudley was in charge there, they wished to find 
him. Some of his children were pulling weeds in the garden, 
and when the men stopped and asked about Dudley Leavitt, 
they couldn't tell them a thing. They didn't know who he 
was or where he had gone or when he would be back or 
anything else about him. 

When the visitors finally did find him, one of them 


told him how the children had acted. 

"You can't blame the children," he said. "We have 
trained them not to know anything if a stranger is around." 

Many an interesting legend has grown up about the 
visits of the marshals. The story is told that Thomas S. 
Terry had his home on the Utah- Arizona line, one room in 
Utah and one in Arizona, the two connected by a cotton- 
wood shed. If the officers came for him, he had only to go 
into the other room to be in the other state and out of 
their jurisdiction. People made up songs about McGeary 
and Armstrong, so vigorously were they hated. "McGeary 
searched McAthur's House", was often sung by children 
in derision as they went down the street. 

During these years, Dudley's children were growing up 
and the older ones marrying. As with any family, there were 
problems; there were times when their parents were troubled 
over some of their actions and attitudes. Clarence tells how, 
as a boy, he became disgruntled and ran away from home, 
going down to Bunkerville to live with Weir, who was 
married and established there. After a few days he became 
so homesick he couldn't stand it and came back home. His 
father was so glad to see him that, like the father in the 
parable of the Prodigal Son, he made him more than wel- 

"He didn't need to let me see how glad he was to have 
me back," Clarence said, "I was a lot gladder to be back 
than he was to have me." 

William Abbott likes to tell how, when he was courting 
Mary Jane he met her father going up the river with such 
a heavy load that he got stuck on a hill. The young man 
came up just in time to double teams and get the load up 
without further trouble. 

"I appreciate that," Dudley told him with genuine grati- 
tude. "If I can do something for you sometime, you let 
me know." 

William hesitated a minute. "I believe I'll collect right 
now," he said, "I would like to marry your daughter, Mary 
Jane, and I'd like your consent and blessing." 

"Well," said Dudley with a grin, "she's just a kid and 
don't know nothing, but maybe you can teach her. Take 
her and welcome." 

On his sixty-fifth birthday, the family decided to honor 


Dudley with a surprise party at his home at Leavittville, 
just below what is now Littlefield. For weeks ahead they 
talked and planned, sending word to the scattered members 
of the family in different towns. The wives began pre- 
paring, and Dudley, guessing what was coming, had a calf 
and a pig ready to kill. 

The crowd began to arrive late in the evening the 
day before, for many of them must come long distances; 
most of them at least seventeen miles, or almost a day's 
travel in a wagon. Children, grand-children, in-laws, and 
friends all came. The first evening was spent in visiting and 
in arranging sleeping places, though, since it was August 
and the visitors brought their bedding, this was not a 
serious problem. 

The next morning there was a bustle of preparation. 
The calf had been in the barbecue pit all night, but there 
were pies and cakes to bake, and vegetables to prepare. 
Young people hitched up a wagon and went to the field 
for a load of melons, children swang under the cottonwood 
trees, men arranged a long table of saw-horses and planks. 
It stretched out under the row of cottonwoods, a long table, 
but filled at noon with slices of the steaming beef, roast 
pork, pots of string beans, corn-on-the-cob, baked squash, 
with red slices of watermelon for dessert. People helped 
themselves, or were served by the row of women, and then 
sat down in the shade to eat. 

After dinner the sports began, wrestling, boxing bouts, 
jumping, running, horse races and horse and foot races 
(turn the stake and back). Children waded and splashed 
in the warm ditch, adolescent girls squealed and ran as the 
boys engaged them in a "water fight". Older women held 
their babies and visited. 

The real party was not until at night, after a supper, 
which was largely a repetition of the dinner, after the 
youngest were put to bed in the wagon boxes or on the 
hay, after a bonfire had been built. They did not need its 
heat, but they wanted its light and cheer, and it gave them a 
center around which to gather. They began with songs, 
group songs, hymns they knew and loved: "O Ye Moun- 
tains High", "Come, Come Ye Saints", "Hard Times Come 
Again No More", and others. Young Mary Hafen, on her 
way to St. George to be married, played the guitar and 


led out, Striking a few chords to give them all the pitch. 

Then Dudley arose to speak. These were his children, 
and no matter if they did have families of their own, it 
was still his right to counsel them. He was not one to 
mince words, and he told them what he expected of them. 
They should live their religion, pay their debts, attend to 
their prayers, especially their family prayers, get out of 
debt, and own their own homes. In no other way could 
they be free, and he did not want them to be in bondage to 
any man. Most important of all, they should keep alive 
their testimony of the Gospel which was so dear to him, 
and for which he would give his life. He closed, as he 
always did, by telling them that he knew that Joseph Smith 
was a Prophet of the Living God, that he had seen him 
and heard him speak, and knew that he spoke with power. 
He told them again the incident when "the mantle of Joseph 
fell upon Brigham", and told incidents when he had been 
guided and protected by the power of God. 

The party was closed by prayer. The next day some 
of the crowd started home early, and others waited until 
afternoon, but by evening they were all gone. Dudley looked 
over his gifts, and treasured the list to be reviewed often, 
for even the five-cent pieces and box of rivets which his 
younger grandchildren left were precious to him. This is 
the list. I copy it, because it shows who were there, and 
the types of presents they brought. 

AUGUST 30, 1895 

A birthday party for Dudley Leavitt at the Leavitt Ranch. 

Mary H. Leavitt, a pair of garments. 

Maria H. Leavitt, a book, "The Life of Heber C. Kimball". 

Thirza Leavitt, a lamp. 

Orin, Aaron and Dan Leavitt, 2 shirts. 

Hannah Terry, a book, "Forty Years Among the Indians". 

Weir and Delia Leavitt, cloth for a white shirt. 

Johnnie and Sadie Hansen, a hat. 

Heber and Betsy Hardy, cloth for two shirts. 

Charley and Lorena Hardy, collar and pin and pair of cuff buttons. 

Mary Jane Abbott, a pair of overalls. 

Annie Sprague, a light shirt. 

Lydia Leavitt and Edgar Leavitt, a pair of winter pants. 

Lon, Henry and Ben Leavitt, a pair of pants. 


Mary Ellen, a pitchfork. 

Albert Leavitt, a silk handkerchief. 

Theresa Leavitt, a necktie and suspenders. 

Mabel Waite, a pair of woolen socks. 

Herbert Waite, 25c in money. 

Nora Leavitt, a pair of woolen socks and a silk handkerchief. 

Susan Hunt and son, George, a pair of socks and handkerchief. 

Dora Waite, a cravat and handkerchief. 

Jessie Waite, a pocket book and pencil. 

Mary Lizzie Leavitt (Bowman), a pair of cotton socks. 

Sarah Waite, a pair of cotton socks. 

Jeremy Leavitt, necktie and handkerchief. 

Ira Leavitt, a handkerchief and a box of shaving soap. 

Ellen Leavitt, a pair of spectacles. 

Ithamer and Orson Sprague, two handkerchiefs. 

Zera Leavitt, a cake of soap. 

Ernest Leavitt, 5c. 

Christina Abbott, 5c. 

Oliver Sprague, 10c. 

Rozena and Deborah Leavitt, 50c. 

Parley Leavitt, 10c. 

Thirza Leavitt, 5c. 

Merlin Hardy. 5c. 

Mina and Christina Hansen, a box of rivets. 

Mary Hafen, a silk tie. 


Taken at Old Folks Party about 1905. Left to right: 
Mary, Dudley, Thirza, Janet and Martha. 




BY THIS TIME Dudley was getting to be an old man. 
His hair had turned gray years before; some of his 
younger children say that they cannot remember 
when their father's hair was not snowy white. To the end 
of his days, it was unusually thick. He had powerful arms 
and shoulders, but his legs became bowed, as though they 
had bent under the weight of his great trunk. He had the 
habit of sitting to work. He would take a home-made chair 
wherever he went, carrying it in one hand and a cane in 
the other. He sat to clean ditch, working right along with 
young men, reaching far out to the end of his shovel handle 
before he moved his chair. He sat to chop wood, cutting 
piles of green cottonwood poles into stove lengths and 
splitting them. 

His one outstanding physical characteristic was his 
teeth, for they were perfect until his death. There is a 
story that he could and did bite a ten-penny nail in half. 
He did take pride in cracking hard-shelled almonds with his 
teeth. There have been many conjectures as to why they 
were so well preserved. Some of his children say it was 
the pine gum he chewed that gave them exercise and kept 
his mouth free of acids. Others claim that it was his diet, 
the whole grains and molasses and vegetables, and the fact 
that he loved to eat the bones of animals as well as the 
flesh. Whenever they cooked a chicken he always crunched 
the softer bones and the joints of the larger ones, sucking 
out the juices. He never used a tooth brush, but he always 
picked his teeth after every meal and polished them off 
with a stick. 

His home was always open to the traveler, whether 
stranger or friend. Of his hospitality his daughter, Nora 



says: "We always fed everyone who came along. A 
great many tramps were moving through the country, and 
it used to make us out of patience sometimes because the 
people at Littlefield would send them on to us to feed. 
'The Leavitt family always takes in everybody', they would 
tell them. 

"I remember that one morning we had four, one right 
after another and when the fifth came, mother told him 
she hadn't anything to give him. He turned and started 
away, but her conscience got the best of her and she called 
him back. We fixed a meal, and he certainly was hungry. 
Of all the men we fed, he seemed to appreciate it most. 
He couldn't get through thanking us. 

"But it was not only tramps, it was the visiting au- 
thorities; it was cowboys on the drive; it was freighters. 
We could never keep light bread enough on hand. I remem- 
ber one night after we had been in bed and asleep we 
had to get up and get a meal for hungry cowboys, baking 
big pans of hot biscuits. 

"Aunt Mary always kept the missionaries. She was 
an excellent cook and a good manager. At one time when 
they came, she had no white pillow slips clean. She had 
colored ones that she used on her beds, but she thought 
thej^ were not good enough. So she took two white shirts and 
put them on the pillows, folding them neatly and buttoning 
them on the under side. Then she worried all night for 
fear her guests would turn their pillows over or shift them 
around. But it was the best she could do." 

There are many stories of how the family took in 
visitors. At one time when a full load came from St. George 
and Salt Lake, including Eliza R. Snow and Zina D. Young, 
the women gave their own bed to their guests while they 
fixed one for themselves in the cotton bin on top of the 
unginned cotton. The next morning, the oldest son at home, 
Dudley Junior, presided and led in the family prayer in 
the absence of his father. The visitors were much impressed 
with the home set-up. 

Ed Syphus told how he and his brother were taking 
a load of rock salt to St. George. They had to cross the 
Virgin river some twenty-two times and had some trouble 
with their outfits. When they arrived at the Leavitt ranch, 
they were out of provisions, both for themselves and their 


teams. Dudley walked out to meet them when they stopped. 

"Unhitch and put up your teams," he said, and they 
knew that meant that their horses would be well cared for. 
Then looking at the boys closely, he said, "You're hungry, 
too, aren't you? Come right in and I'll have the women 
fix you something." 

'That was the best thing I had heard for a long time," 
Brother Syphus said as he told it. "We were hungry, but 
we were just big, bashful boys, and wouldn't have dared 
to ask for anything. One of his wives baked a pan of 
biscuits and we had hot bread and butter and molasses 
and milk. I think I never tasted a better meal. And when 
we left, we had another pan of biscuits to take along with 
us. Soon after we were on the road, we killed a rabbit 
with a rock, so we fared very well until we delivered our 

When the family left Mesquite, Mary had protested 
against having to start all over again. 

"I have done nothing but pioneer new places all my life," 
she said. "We just get a comfortable place established and 
have to move. I'm through pioneering. This is the last 
move I will make." 

She lived at Tunnel Point and later with Maria in the 
big rock house at Leavittville. Then in 1893 Frank's wife, 
Malinda, died, leaving him with two small boys, so she 
went to live with him and take care of the children. She 
spent the last years of her life in Frank's home. 

Maria was a mid-wife who served throughout all the 
southern country. Sometimes she went out as far as Clover 
Valley, traveling in a wagon and staying until the mother 
could be up and around again. In her early married life 
she had been "called" to this work by Sisters Eliza R. 
Snow and Zina D. Young, who blessed her and set her 
apart to do it. They suggested that her fee for the delivery 
of a child be three dollars, a price which she kept all her 
life. Even after she became quite an elderly lady, people 
sent for her because the women had such confidence in her. 
She said once that she always prayed silently as she worked, 
and she always felt that God heard and helped her. When- 
ever the people saw a team tearing through the streets 
with Aunt Maria holding on to the spring seat, they knew 
that some woman was in labor. 


Dudley had taken all his wives but Janet to the En- 
dowment House or to the Temple at Salt Lake City and 
had them sealed to him. After the Temple at St, George 
was completed, he had this ordinance performed, taking 
Janet and nine children there on June 2, 1882. 

During their later years, both Janet and Martha lived 
with their children, Janet with her daughter, Jane Barnum, 
and Martha with hers, Lydia Hughes. 

For many years, Thirza and Maria lived together in 
the rock house at Leavittville. Each had a large rock living 
room with a kitchen behind and an upstair bedroom. Of 
their arrangements at this time, Nora says: 

"Theresa and I were little girls about the same age. 
We went to school at Littlefield, three miles away, and as 
we had to walk, we always got up early and ate breakfast 
by lamplight. When father was not there, we each slept 
with our own mother, but when father was home we both 
slept with my mother one night and hers the next. Father 
changed regularly and we slept with the wife he didn't 
sleep with. 

"We were very friendly. I don't have a sister who is 
as dear to me as Theresa, because we were together so 

This same thing seems to be true throughout the 
family. The children who were the same age and who grew 
up together were more attached to each other than were 
those of the same mother who were widely apart in age. 
Every one with whom I have talked says the same thing; 
their best friends were their brothers and sisters by the 
other wives. Their father never let them be referred to 
as "half-brothers". Since they were all his children, they 
were all brothers and sisters. 

Late in his life, Dudley received one thousand dollars 
from the Government for his services among the Indians. 
It came unsought and unexpected. His first thought was 
to put it where it would do the most good. His wants were 
few and simple; his children were all married and estab- 
lished. All his life he had spent in helping to build up 
"The Church and Kingdom of God", and this seemed an 
opportunity to do more for it. He went with the money 
to his bishop and asked where he thought it would do the 
most good. First he paid an honest tithing from it, one 


hundred dollars. Then he donated seventy-five dollars to 
the Temple and sent some to help the missionaries who 
were out before he would use any for himself or his wives. 
This is typical of the way in which he always put the 
mterest of the Church before his own private interest. 

By 1905 it was thought by many of the children that 
their father and his two wives were getting too old to stay 
on the ranch at Leavittville, since it was so far from any 
neighbors and their children were nearly all married. Ac- 
cordingly they divided the cattle and sold the ranch. Maria 
went to live with her son Ira at Mesquite, and Dudley and 
Thirza moved back to a rock house in Bunkerville, near 
their children. This was his home until his death. 

As the family grew older and married, they still turned 
to their father for counsel. Especially did they depend on 
him in times of sickness. Every one tells incidents when 
their father came to them when they were in trouble, of 
how, through his administration and blessing, one or an- 
other of their babies had been healed. They seemed to feel 
that he had a sort of "sixth sense" by which he discerned 
things. Clarence tells how, when he was younger, the boys 
tried to deceive him by killing a calf while they were on 
the drive and then telling him that it got its leg broken 
and they had to kill it. He listened to their story and then 
said, "The next time you want to kill a calf, you drive it 
home and kill it. It will be easier to take care of the meat. 
And you needn't bother to break its leg, either." 

"Father could almost read what was in people's minds," 
Lena said. "One time I planned to leave my husband. We 
were living in polygamy and I got discouraged, and maybe 
a little jealous. With two families, it seemed like we could 
never get ahead. So I decided to leave the three older 
children with their father and Mary Ellen and take the 
baby, Edward Washington, to St. George and leave him with 
my mother, while I went on to Salt Lake to take a nursing 
course. I thought that if I got that nursing course I could 
make my own way better alone. 

"I did not say a word about what was in my mind to 
a soul, but I had thought about it and planned on it for 
quite a while. So when father came down, I asked if I 
could go to St. George with him to visit my mother. I got 
ready and left, never letting on that I was not planning to 


come right back. 

"Father didn't say anything until the second day out. 
Then as we were riding along he put his arm around my 
shoulders and said, 'Lena, you are feeling bad and dis- 
couraged, but I promise you that if you will stand by 
Orange and stay with him, the Lord will bless you and you 
will be better off than if you do what you have on your 

"At first I denied it. 'I don't know what you mean. I 
don't have anything in my mind', I said. 'What makes you 
think I have?' 

" 'You plan to leave your husband and take up nursing 
to support yourself, he said. 'But don't do it. You will 
be happier if you stay with your husband.' 

"He talked to me just like I was a little girl instead 
of a married woman with four children. He advised me 
to do my duty and said that was the path that would 
have the fewest regrets for me. I went on to St. George 
and stayed a few days with my mother. Then I came back 
home and even my husband didn't know a thing about it. 
Father never mentioned it again." 

Dan tells an incident which shows how literally and 
fully his father trusted the men who were over him. He 

"You know father had a perfect set of teeth, the finest 
I ever saw in my life. I was always joking him about his 
teeth, until as he grew older, he used to ask me nearly 
every time I came in if I didn't want his teeth. One day 
I went to see him and found him sitting and looking into 
the fire. Instead of joking as he usually did, he looked up 
and said, 'Dan, you don't believe it, do you?' 

" 'Believe what?' I asked. 

" 'What the prophets have said.' 

" 'Well, it all depends', I parried. 

" 'No,' he said. 'You don't believe what the ancient 
prophets said, and you don't believe what the modern 
prophets have said.' 

" 'What do you mean?' 

"Well, you don't believe what President McAllister 
prophesied that there will be a paved highway running for 
miles down through this country.' 

" 'Oh, father', I laughed. 'Don't be silly. How could 


anyone believe that? What is there here to ever bring a 
paved street?' 

" 'Now let me tell you, son, the Lord never spoke any- 
thing through the mouths of his prophets, either ancient 
or modern, that he will not bring to pass. I may not live 
to see it, but you will. There will be a paved highway as 
straight as an arrow running for miles down this flat. And 
don't you forget it.' 

"He was so earnest and so impressive that I didn't for- 
get it, and I often think of it today when I drive over High- 
way 91, which runs right down the street he pointed. Then 
it was only a stretch of sand filled with mesquites and chap- 
arral and cactus, with a wagon road winding in and out 
among them. We made a joke out of the idea that there 
would ever be a paved road there." 

Dudley's repeated moves had kept him always ahead 
of the modern improvements. When he saw the first binder, 
he was astonished. After all the grain he had cradled, to 
see it cut and bound so easily was like a miracle to him, 
especially the tying of the bundles. 

"Then Millenium is not far off," he said. "When man 
can invent a machine that has fingers, there isn't much left 
to do." 

With the telephone it was the same. Totally unbe- 
lieving when his sons tried to tell him about it, he refused 
for a long time to try to use it. At last they persuaded 
him to come to "Central's" office, the one telephone in 
town, and had him talk to his wife in Mesquite, five miles 
away. When he recognized her voice, his wonder knew no 

He never rode in an automobile; he knew nothing of 
the conveniences which have developed from the use of 
electricity. His reading was limited to the Scriptures. He 
clung to the homely, elemental things of life. He repre- 
sented them. 

As he grew older he talked to his children more and 
more of the value of owning their own homes, keeping out 
of debt, and having a store of food on hand sufficient for 
two seasons, against the time when "you can't buy a barrel 
of flour with a barrel of gold". He spoke often of the time 
when "war will be poured out upon all nations", and told 
them that they would live to know the truth of his words. 


"My mind is still active, but my feet drag," he told 
one of his sons. "If my feet would follow the dictates of my 
head, I could get over the ground like a mountain sheep." 

"These old, useless, crippled legs," he said one day. 
"How glad I will be to be rid of them. There are so many 
things I want to do, if I were not chained to this old worn 
out body. I'll be glad to lay it down. Maybe then I can 
accomplish something again." 

During the summer he lagged a little. He spent more 
time indoors, musing over the past, or just sitting in that 
semi-blank state which he called "studying". 

One evening he began to sing. That was not unusual, 
for he often sang, Indian songs, hymns, and rollicking folk 
ballads. But this was different. It was "Come, Let Us 
Anew", but sung with a new feeling. When he came to 
the last verse: 

"I have fought my way through 

I have finished the work Thou dids't give me to do", 
it was like the death chant of a warrior, an announcement 
of the end. With the next lines his voice rose in the as- 
surance that his Father would approve of his life's work: 

"And that each from his Lord 

Should receive the glad word 

'Well and faithfully done 

Enter into my joy and sit down on my throne.' " 

He knew that he was near the threshold, but he had 
no fear. All his life he had walked by faith; by faith he 
would take his last step. He had faced death many times, 
from exposure, heat, starvation, Indians. Now it came as 
a release, or, as he said, a promotion. 

The next morning he did not get up. During the day 
the word went out that father was not well, so most of his 
family called on him. For several days he still had visitors, 
and seemed to enjoy them, though he was failing fast. He 
knew everything until he fell asleep on the evening of 
August 15, 1908, when it soon became evident that he 
would not wake up. 

There was something dignified about his passing. No 
hysterical weeping, no shaking him and calling him back, 
no nurses punching needles into him or poking oxygen 
tubes up his nose. His family accepted the inevitable calmly, 
as he would have wished. He had lived a good life; he was 


ready to go. Why should they hold him? They gathered 
in the yard or wept quietly in an adjoining room, but where 
he lay, all was peace. A son sat by his bed, felt his pulse, 
touched his lips with water, or shifted him slightly. Death 
crept up so slowly that it was hard to tell when the end 

A tired old man had passed, and his going marked 
the end of an era. It was as if the curtain had fallen on 
another act in the great drama of the west. Without edu- 
cation, without culture in the common meaning of that 
word, without wealth, he still had left his imprint upon the 
whole of the section in which he lived. He had blazed the 
way for the conquering of the desert; he had helped to 
establish friendly relations with the Indians. Most of all he 
had left in the hearts of his many children a standard of 
conduct which would include honesty, integrity, christian 
fellowship toward their neighbors, and an unwavering 
trust in God. 

At the funeral the next day, his family gathered, his 
four surviving wives (Janet had died in June 1907), his 
children, his friends, to pay tribute to him. The crowd 
that gathered and the spirit of the occasion were evidence 
of the esteem in which he was held. He was buried in the 
cemetery at Bunkerville, Nevada. 

Of his surviving wives, women who had stood shoulder 
to shoulder with him through the years of pioneer hard- 
ships, one, Martha, died the next year, in June, 1909. The 
other three, Mary, Maria, and Thirza lived on for quite a 
number of years. Mary went first on January 31, 1922; 
Maria, her sister, followed in six months, July 30, 1922, 
while Thirza lived until August 27, 1927. 

A full biography could be written on the lives of each 
of these women, but from their early girlhood their fortunes 
were so closely bound to his that it would seem enough to 
tell his story in full. 


Present at Family Reunion held at Bunkerville, New, 1935. 
Back row: Lister, Frank, Henry. 

Middle row: Theresa Huntsman, Lorena Hardy, Mabel 
Waite, Mary Jane Abbott, Medora Waite. 

Front row: Betsy Hardy, Mary Ellen Leavitt, Hannah 
Terry, Sadie Pulsipher, Lena Leavitt. 



THE STUDY of genealogy is so fascinating that a 
person could well devote a lifetime to it. At the 
present time, Mrs. Mary Terry Bunker is doing 
more in genealogical research along the Leavitt lines than 
any one else in Utah. In 1924 Mrs. Cecilia G. Steed pre- 
pared a book, "The Leavitts of America", under the direc- 
tion of Mrs. Jane Jennings Eldridge of Woods Cross, Utah, 
which is very good. In 1941, Mrs. Emily Leavitt Noyes of 
Tilton, New Hampshire, published a book on the Leavitt 
and Dudley genealogy, a more up-to-date and complete 

For our purposes here it is enough to list that Dudley 
traced his lineage back to John, the first Leavitt to come 
to America. John married Sarah Oilman, and Dudley's 
line is through his son Moses who married Dorothy Dudley, 
their son Joseph who married Mary Wadleigh, their son 
Nathaniel who married Lydia Sanborn, their son Jeremiah 
who married Sarah Shannon, and their son Jeremiah who 
married Sarah Sturdevant. Dudley was the fourth son in 
this family. Mrs. Noyes book gives interesting sketches 
of all these ancestors, along with copies of their wills and 
other interesting data. We would suggest that all who 
are interested in genealogy should purchase this book. 

From this point on, we trace here only the children 
and grandchildren of Dudley in order that his descendants 
may know their relationship to each other. 





Louisa Hannah b. 16 March 1855; m Thomas Terry 

Dudley b. 31 Nov. 1856; m Mary Elizabeth Pulsipher; d. 21 Feb. 1931 

Orin David b. 8 Jan. 1859; d. unm. 

Orson Welcome b. 13 Feb. 1861; d. unm. 

Alonzo Thomas b. 13 No. 1862; m. Udora Hunt 

Joseph Henry b. 23 June 1865; d. July 1866 

Franklin Samuel b. 11 March 1867; m. Malinda Hunt; m. Selina Hafen 

George Edw^ard b. 16 Nov. 1869; d. 11 Oct. 1878 

Aaron Huntsman b. 17 Aug. 1871; m. Clarissa Ellen Hughes; d. 15 

Dec. 1907 
Mary Jane b. 16 July 1873; m. William E. Abbott 
Mabel LiUiam b. 28 Dec. 1874; m. Herbert Wm. Waite 
Daniel Lemuel b. 23 June 1879; m. Penelope Burgess 


Orilla b. 28 April 1859; d. 17 Mar. 1874 

Elsie b. 18 Dec. 1860; m. Samuel Hooper 

Hyrum Ralston 4 Nov. 1862; d. 27 Nov. 1886 

James William b. 20 Feb. 1865; d. 10 Sept. 1866 

John Willard b. 1 Feb. 1867; d. 1 Jan. 1877 

Sarah Maria b. 23 July 1869; m. John P. Hansen; m. Andrew M. 

Charles Albert b. 14 June 1871; m. Lillie May Barnum; died May 1929 
Hubert Arthur b. 19 July 1873; m. Sarah E. Canfield 
Medora b. 8 Feb. 1875; m. Jesse Waite 
Nora b. 13 Dec. 1877; m. J. Nephi Hunt 

Jeremy b. 19 April 1880; m. Martha Hughes; m. Lorena White 
Ira b. 30 Dec. 1882; m. Joseph Abbott 


Alfred Weir b. 27 Dec. 1860; m. Idella Hunt; d. 23 Dec. 1939 

Thirza Helen b. 29 Sept. 1863; m. Orange D. Leavitt 

Mary Elenor b. 7 Feb. 1866; m. Orange D. Leavitt 

Christopher Lister b. 1868; m. Annie Barnum 

Dudley Henry b. 19 April 1870; m. Mary Hafen 

Betsy b. 4 June 1872; m. Heber H. Hardy 

Emma Lorena b. 17 Dec. 1874; m. Charles M. Hardy 

Theresa b. 18 April 1877; m. Solon Huntsman 

Alma Clinton b. 29 Jan. 1880; d. 29 Feb. 1880 

Knewell Taylor b. 11 Aug. 1882; d. 29 July 1883 


Annie Marie b. March 1861; m. Luther Sprague 

Calvin Smith b. 18 Feb. 1864; m. Mary E. Waite; d. 21 Dec. 1894 

Adelbert b. 15 Dec. 1865; d. 9 Sept. 1866 

Marinda b. 30 June 1874; m. George Hooper 

Sarah Jane b. 9 March 1868; m. A. James Barnum 

Helaman b. 28 March 1870; d. 1871 

Clarence Dudley b. 25 Jan. 1872; m. Nellie L. McKnight 

Benjamin Heber b. 30 Jan. 1876; unm. 

Oliver b. 2 July 1880; d. young 

Deborah b. 18 April 1886; unm. 

Rozena b. 18 July 1888; m. Wright McKnight; d. 19 Sept. 1932 



Lydia b. 25 Dec. 1873; m. Walter Hughes; d. 17 Nov. 1917 
Minerva died infant 
Dudley Charles died infant 

Grandchildren of Dudley and Mary Huntsman Leavitt 


Maud Etna b. 25 Mar. 1880; m. John S. Patten 
Mary Elsie b. 15 Aug. 1881; m. Ezra Bunker 
David Dudley b. 29 Jan. 1883; m. Stella Iverson 
Jedediah Merkins b. 3 April 1885; m. Clara Woods 
Edward S. b. 21 Dec. 1886; m. Florence Woodbury 
Exie b. 4 Dec. 1888; m. Rowland Blake 


Dudley Edgar b. 18 Nov. 1879; m. Bertha Hafen 

Zerah Royal b. 28 Aug. 1881; unm. 

Alonzo Milton b. 16 April 1883; d. 1883 

Orson Welcome b. 8 Sept. 1887; d. 22 Oct. 1915 unm. 

Mary Ann b. 3 Dec. 1889; d. 6 Feb. 1890 

Mable Lydia b. 15 Feb. 1891; m. Fred Rushton 

Martha Minerva b. 15 Feb. 1891; m. William Clark McKnight 

George Albert b. 17 May 1893; m. Christie Prescott 

Laman Pulsipher b. 21 July 1895; m. Donna Rushton 

Retta Vivian b. 3 July 1897; m. Lawrence Prescott 

Camilla AdeUne b. 10 July 1900; m. Hollis Hunter 


Alonza Ralph b. 9 Dec. 1889; m. Elise C. Lewis 

Roxie Charlotte b. 22 Dec. 1891; m. Calvin Memmott 

Agnes Melinda b. 18 May 1894; m. Lemuel Leavitt 

Hannah Inez b. 4 Nov. 1898; died infant 

Elva Udora b. 15 Oct. 1902; m. Samuel J. Hollinger 

Alton Clement b. 6 April 1906; unm. 

Mary LaRue b. 24 Sept. 1909; m. Lewis Earl Christian 


Franklin Ernest b. 16 Oct. 1890; m. 1st Martha Bamum; m. 2nd 

Mary Marie Leavitt 
Samuel Edward b. 20 March 1893; m. Clara Hughes 


Franklin OdeD b. 25 Nov. 1908; m. Alta Hardy 
Malinda Selena b. 3 Nov. 1910; m. James J. Brown 
Martin Samuel b. 14 Jan. 1913; unm. 
Wendell b. 27 April 1915; unm.; d. 1942 
Orsen b. 3 Jan. 1918; m. Berniece Pulsipher. 


Aaron b. 16 Sept. 1899; m. Grace Lowe 
Leora b. 26 Oct. 1901; m. Arthur S. Reber 
Mary Marie b. 8 Oct. 1905; m. Ernest Leavitt 
Leonard Fay b. 20 Mar. 1908; m. Lenora Sylvester 



Abigal Christina b. 22 Jan. 1891; m. John Jensen 

Dorothy Ellen b. 19 Oct. 1892; m. Alfred Frehner 

Mary Emily b. 19 Dec. 1899; m. James Elmer Hughes 

Josepha b. Oct. 1894; m. 1st Ira Leavitt, m. 2nd William M. Jones 

William Orval b. 28 Oct. 1896; m. Lodisa E. Thurston 

Stephen Oscar b. 29 Dec. 1901; m. Mary Hughes 

Gussie b. 4 June 1904; d. May 1905 

Anthon Moroni b. 25 Mar. 1906; m. Nellie Johnson 

Harmon Deloy b. 4 May 1908; m. 1st May Burgess, 2nd Zelma Cooper 

Owen M. b. 4 Aug. 1910; died Dec. 1910 

Rulon Sidney b 1911; m. Thelma McKnight 

Claudius b. 1 Jan. 1914; m. Marjorie Bowler 
Ethan Allen b. 6 Jan. 1916; m. Lucille Leavitt 


Hannah Ketura b. 28 June 1893; d. infant 

Mabel Vinda b. 25 Feb. 1895; m. Robert E. Reber 

Velma Leila b. 19 July 1897; m. Louie Rumell Reber 

Herbert Marvin b. 10 May 1900; m. Glenna Sylvia Leavitt 

Leland William b. 18 Dec. 1902; m. Mary Rose Giardina Bunker 

Dinnah b. 18 Jan. 1905; m. Edward Kane 

Delbert b. 21 June 1907; m. Ethelyn Robinson 

Evan b. 15 Sept. 1909; m. Dorothy Hunt 

Moroni b. 5 April 1912; m. June Leavitt 

Denzil b. 12 June 1914; m. lona Peterson 

Dan Leavitt b. 21 Oct. 1916; m. Fern Adams 

Rodney b. 7 Jan. 1919; m. Marie Iverson 


Rex Daniel b. 10 Dec. 1902; m. Erma Potter 
Pearl b. 20 Mar. 1905; m. Elden D. Emett 
Raymond A. b. 26 May 1907; m. Vema Caudel 
Ether M. b. 7 June 1910; m. Lillard French 
Radna b. 3 May 1918; m. Dennis H. Juchness 

Grandchildren of Dudley and Maria Huntsman Leavitt 


Orilla b. 10 July 1884; m. Sidney E. Roberts; d. 17 Aug. 1938 

Bertha Maria b. 29 June 1885; m. William E. Howard 

Lydia Ellen b. 23 Feb. 1887; m. Paris Leon Fillmore 

Medora b. 16 Nov. 1888; m. Samuel A. Kay; d. 8 Jan. 1941 

Thomas Dudley b. 7 Mar. 1890; m. Ina Gee (also given an Frances S.) 

Samuel Melvin b. 27 Oct. 1892; m. Olive S. Newby; d. 18 Sept. 1939 

John Albert b. 15 Sept. 1894; m. Ruby E. Murdoch 

James Edward b. 4 Feb. 1896; d. 26 April 1896 

Duane b. 24 Sept. 1897; d. 10 Mar. 1929 unm. 

William R. b. 13 Feb. 1901; m. Vida M. Brown 

Walter Jay b. Feb. 1905; m. Mary Annetta Fowles 


Elmina b. 3 June 1887; m. William J. Stewart 

Mariah Christina b. 24 July 1889; m. George H. Hunt; d. 12 Mar. 1915 
Rhoda b. 20 May 1891; d infant 

Annie Charlotta b. 29 Mar. 1893; m. 1st Wm. Colman, 2nd Joseph 
Sinclair Eaton 



Cleone b. 28 June 1902; m. John H. Pulsipher 

John Andrew b. 11 Nov. 1903; d. Mar. 16 1925 

Sarah Saphrona b. 31 July 1905; m. Walter Pulsipher 

Willard Dean b. 4 June 1912; m. Laura Elva Frampton 

Dora Martha b. 4 June 1912; m. Ray Robinson; m. Kenneth Miller 


James Albert b. 21 Aug. 1895; m. Esther Chloe Heaton 

Leila May b. 13 July 1898; m. Warren D. Hardy; d. 25 Sept. 1919 

Vertie Ann b .16 May 1900; m. Kenneth Owen Earl 

Jetta Mariah b. 10 June 1902; m. Solon Ralph Huntsman 

Hyrum b. 26 April 1904; d. June 1904 

Erma b. 17 June 1905; m. Vincent E. Leavitt 

Randy b. 5 June 1907; m. Emma Ilene Chamberlain 

Rulon Doyle b. 8 May 1909; d. 14 April 1928 

Aschel J. b. 31 Mar. 1911; m. Rhea Thomas 

Elsie b. 25 Sept. 1913; m. Joe Bonafus 

Ethel b. 1 Sept. 1915; m. Lorin A. Leavitt 

Eleanor b. 24 Sept. 1918; m. Perry Floyd Waite 

Amy b. 17 June 1921; m. Jack Leavitt 


Jesse Leroy b. 21 Mar. 1895; m. Lucina Bowman 

Laprele b. 17 Feb. 1897; m. Leroy M. Naegle; 2nd m. Harry E. Fields 

William Noble b. 25 Sept. 1898; m. June Harriman 

Hazel b. 6 June 1900; m. Loron Phillips; d. 8 Sept. 1930 

Iris b. 20 Nov. 1902; m. Johnson E. White 

Guy b. July 1904; d. 29 April 1905 

Glen b. 27 Jan. 1906; m. Verda Hunt 

Nelda b. 29 Jan. 1908; m. David E. Houston 

Flossie lola b. 19 Dec. 1909; m. Alva L. Hunt; d. 2 July 1939 

Donna b. 14 Nov. 1911; m. Howard Burgess 

Rowena b. 7 April 1914; m. Durrell K. Adams 

Jessie b. 12 Jan. 1917; m. Ivan Holt Hunt 

Margaret b. 12 Mar. 1920; m. Pierce Ian Jarvis 


Nephi Ralston b. 18 Jan. 1900; m. Edith W. Wagstaff 

Vera Benita b. 3 Jan. 1902; m. Victor Casper Lee 

Fay b. 8 Sept. 1906; m. Nellie Louise Roberts 

Paul b. 10 July 1908; m. Irma Sutter 

Ava b. 22 Jan. 1910; m. Ernest Brown 

Claud Archial b. 22 Jan. 1912; d. 20 Nov. 1912 

Elnora b. 27 Sept. 1913; 

Golda b. 15 Feb. 1915; m. William Edward Roberts 

Verda b. 10 Feb. 1918; m. Christian Lester Skeam 


Nora b. 23 Dec. 1902; d. 25 Feb. 1903 

Vilda b. 12 April 1904; m. Reed E. Lowe 

Erving Jeremy b. 27 Oct. 1905; m. Lillian E. Abbott 

Hubert Lee b. 27 Mar. 1907; m. Letty Mann Anderson 

Genevieve b. 27 Dec. 1908; m. Joseph E. Bethers 

Maida b. 12 May 1910; d. 20 Sept. 1930 

Lula b. 3 Aug. 1912; d. 15 May 1920 

Ruth b. 8 Sept. 1914; m. Nelton Burgess 


Porter R. b. 6 May 1916; m. Nydia M. Perkins 
Clarissa b. 27 June 1918; m. Walter Lamoreaux 
Lyman b. 12 April 1920; 
Norman b. 25 June 1923; 
John b. 6 May 1925; died infant 


Daphney b. 11 Oct. 1914; died infant 
Ira Curtis b. 29 Nov. 1915 
lUa b. 24 Dec. 1918 
Clausen b. 11 Mar. 1920 

Grandchildren of Dudley and Thirza Riding Leavitt 


Ellen b. 7 May 1883; m. Albert Hafen 

Alice b. 22 Aug. 1885; m. Ithamar D. Sprague 

Parley b. 13 May 1889; m. Martha Lovena Hafen 

Thirza b. 16 June 1892; m. William M. Dykeman 

Idella b. 4 June 1894; m. Charles Bowler 

Susan Rachel b. 21 Sept. 1896; m. Joseph Banner; d. 6 Nov. 1917 


Elmira b. 24 April 1883; m. Asheal J. Bamum 

Orange W. b. 30 Jan. 1885; d. 23 Feb. 1885 

Alma Decator b. 23 Feb. 1886; m. Ivie J. Cox 

Newell Knight b. 17 June 1889; m. Nettie M. Earl; d. 12 Sept. 1921 

Dudley b. 11 Sept. 1891; d. 12 April 1892 

Washington Edward b. 12 Feb. 1893; m. Amelia Bunker; m. Elizabeth 

Theodosia b. 9 May 1895; m. Leon Bowman 
Charles Clinton b. 9 Aug. 1899; m. Rhoda Hafen 
May Eleanor b. 22 Jan. 1904; d. 16 April 1905 
Melvina b. 16 Nov. 1905; m. George N. Parras; d. 13 Dec. 1932 


Thirza Olive b. 11 Oct. 1887; m. Joseph H. Hardy 

Betsy b. 18 Oct. 1889; m. Oliver Sprague 

Alfred Hale b. 2 Aug. 1892; d. 5 Aug. 1892 

Elmer b. 11 July 1893; m. Emma Sophia Burgess 

Leah b. 8 May 1896; m. Harmon C. Tobler 

Theresa Gladys b. 23 Dec. 1898; m. Jergen Leroy Felt 

Veda Bell b. 27 May 1902; m. David Marineer Cox 

Elfonda b. 12 Mar. 1905; m. Myron S. Horsley 

Sarah b. 4 Aug. 1907; m. John D. Bamum 

Lemuel Smith b. 18 July 1910; m. Laura H. Bowler 


Annie Donetta b. 28 June 1899; m. William W. Potter 

Lucinda b. 9 Feb. 1900; m. Lawrence R. Nelson 

Lister Hale b. 21 Dec. 1902; m. Cordelia Dearborn 

Glen Henry b. 10 Dec. 1904; m. Rachel Bowler 

Jacob Hamblin b. 26 Jan. 1907; m. Anna M. Potter 

Ross b. 8 Dec. 1908 

Evan b. 24 Nov. 1910; m. Edna McBride 

NeU b. 13 Oct. 1912; m. Walter Granger 

Bamum b. 13 Aug. 1914; m. Berniece Reber 

Jack b. 4 June 1916; m. Dorine Beatty 


Theron b. 29 Mar. 1918; m. Faun Gardner 
Ila May b. 15 Jan. 1920; m. Arthur Justin 
Stella b. 31 Jan. 1922; m. Gerald Pingle 
Gene b. 18 Oct. 1923 
Gilbert b. 26 July 1925 


Orpha Ora b. 23 Nov. 1896; d. 28 Aug. 1898 

Juanita Leone b. 15 Jan. 1898; m. 1st Leonard Ernest Pulsipher; m. 

2nd William Brooks 
Charity b. 8 Dec. 1899; m. Vernon C. Rowley 
Aura Ola b. 27 Nov. 1901; m. Joseph Carl Allen 
Melvin Henry b. 28 Mar. 1903; m. Myrtle Wittwer 
Laurel Evan b. 17 Dec. 1905; m. Melva Durrant 
Daisy Ina b. 28 Sept. 1907; m. Leonard Reber 
Eva b. 20 Feb. 1909; m. Walter J. Miles 
Francis Hale b. 20 June 1911; m. Marian Holmes 
Dudley Maurice b. 17 July 1913; m. EvyRean Cox 
Mary b. 17 Sept. 1915; m. Fenton Frehner 


Heber Merlin b. 19 April 1892; m. Vida Earl 

Warren Decater b. 23 July 1894; m. Leila Leavitt; m. Naomi Palmer 

Dudley Leavitt b. 14 Jan. 1897; m. Vera Wittwer 

Ethel Ramona b. 2 Feb. 1899; m. Ruben J. Bradshaw 

Tamsen b. 10 May 1901; m. Thomas Harley Adams 

Emmarene b. 8 Feb. 1904; m. Elmer A. Graff 

Gile Wilford b. 5 Feb. 1906; d. 25 Oct. 1908 

Rozella b. 19 May 1908; m. Douglas D. Hall 

Grant b. 21 Feb. 1910; m. Leila Miller 



Leo Milton b. 16 Mar. 1896; m. Cornelia Barnum 
Charles Alfred b. 25 Sept. 1897; m. Faun Lowe 
Nevada b. 5 Nov. 1899; m. Charles William Pulsipher 
Mark b. 12 Dec. 1901; m. Delila Tobler 
Heber Vernon b. 3 Mar. 1904; m. Margaret Sylvester 
Orpha b. 22 Oct. 1906; m. Joseph F. Woods 
Lister Dean b. 28 Aug. 1909; m. Mabel Leavitt 
Vonda Lorena b. 31 Aug. 1914; m. Joseph W. Wilson 


Ira Hale b. 26 Aug. 1909; m. Leah Fugal 

Theresa May b. 24 Feb. 1911; m. James Willard Cook 

Erwin Parker b. 16 Aug. 1913; died infant 

Millie b. 24 Aug. 1916 

Grandchildren of Dudley and Janet Smith Leavitt 


Ithamar Dudley b. 8 April 1881; m. Alice Leavitt 

Oliver b. 17 Nov. 1882; m. Betsy Leavitt 

Orson M. b. 19 Mar. 1886; m. Bertha E. Sampson 

Milo b. 20 Jan. 1888; died 

Harvey b. 18 July 1890; m. Nellie Carter 

Marley b. 9 Sept. 1902 

Vilate b. 2 Oct. 1905; m. Reuben Leavitt 




Elizabeth Rebecca b. 3 July 1892; m. Elmer S. Bowman 
Calvin Willard b. 14 May 1894; m. Elva Hughes 


Emily Ellen b. 20 June 1896; m. Harry BaU 

Irene b. 14 Mar. 1898; m. Henry Shaller 

Annie Victoria b. 30 Jan. 1900; m. Rodney O. Colton 

Calvin b. Feb. 1902 

Rhea b. 15 July 1904; m. Frank Steward 

Fern b. 26 Mar. 1907; m. Emerson Mann 

William b. 5 April 1909; m. Mrs. Clarise 

Thomas b. July 1910 


Calvin Dudley b. 18 Mar. 1888; m. Lucy Jepson; d. 3 July 1928 

Sarah Ann b. 7 Aug. 1890; m. P. A. Leatham 

Jeannetta Minerva b. 20 Sept. 1892; m. C. Stanley Pulsipher; d. 

27 Feb. 1929 
Naomi b. 7 Jan. 1895; m. Lyman Abbott; m. Amos Hunt 
James Murray b. 12 April 1897; m. Loretta Liston; m. Annis Laub 
Vemeth b. 4 Dec. 1899; m. Lapreal Pace; d. 23 May 1939 
Virginia b. 2 June 1901; m. Reinhold Miller 
James LeGrand b. 30 Aug. 1909; d. July 1910 

children of clarence dudley and lillie 
Mcknight leavitt 

Lela b. 8 May 1903; m. Burdett C. Williamson 
Blanche b. 24 Sept. 1904; m. William L. Bennett 
Alta Jenett b. 10 Feb. 1906; m. John W. Anderson 
Sarah Helen b. 31 Jan. 1908; m. Shelby J. Carr 
Claudia b. 2 Sept. 1909; m. William C. Ponton 
Evan Clarence b. 18 July 1911 
Marion Ezra b. 10 Nov. 1913 

James Donald b. 29 April 1915; m. Ruth Bowler 
Woodrow Dudley b. 20 Mar. 1917; m. Carol Hewett 
Ruby b. 28 Nov. 1918; m. George R. Earlywine 
Madge b. 30 Aug. 1922 
Stanley b. 20 April 1926 



Ida m. Frank Hardy 


Sheldon died young 



Sarah m. Howard Wilkins 




Grandchildren of Dudley and Martha Pulsipher Leavitt 


Lydia Afton b. 11 July 1898; m. Stephen R. Linge 
Warren Milton b. 20 April 1900; m. Aldine Rackliff 
Martha Vilate b. 27 Jan. 1903; m. Jesse Victor Knight 
Albre Z. b. 28 May 1905; m. Hazel Bell Julion 
Francetta b. 11 Aug. 1908; m. Floyd Bishop 
Maybelle b. 24 April 1912; m. Ebbie H. Davis